r,ift 


— : ■ _ _-« =>-^| 

GIFT 
Prof.    0. 

OF 

A. 

Kof' 

^id 

i| 

N%»%(kf^^ 


«  ^ 


t..  '^^"^^  •• 


«-  s 


,'  THE 

AMERICAN  MANUAL, 

OR 

NEW  ENGLISH  READER : 

CONSISTING  OF 

EXERCISES  IN  READING  AND  SPEAKING^ 

BO-^H  IN 

33rose  una  33ottr^ ; 

SELECTED  FROM  THE  BEST  WRITERS. 
TO  WHICH   ARE  ADDED, 

A  SUCCINCT  HISTORY  OF  THE  COLONIES, 

FROM  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  NORTH   AMERICA  TO  THE  CLOSE  OP 
THE  WAR  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  J 

THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE, 

THE 

% 

CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 

AND    OF 

THE  STATE  OF  NEW,  yORK. 

FOR  THE  USE  OF  SCHOOL^. 


BY  MOSES  SEVERANCE. 

CAZENOVIA,  N.Y. 
PUBLISHED  BY  HENRY,  HITCHCOCK,  &  Co. 

1841. 


Enfftred  according  to  Act  of  Congress ,  in  the  year  1S30,  by  Moses  i 
ANGB,  in  the  Office  of  ihc  Clerk  of  the  District  Court  of  Hie  Northern  |[>». 
if  Id  of  New  York.  .     '  f^ 


t^^ 


fe^K01^YPED*6V  J.  ^.'  lybFIRLD,, 


t^ 


;./ 


d/^ 


PREFACE. 


Perhaps  no  book  that  has  been  introduced  into  the  schools 
of  this  country,  has  been  more  deservedly  held  in  high  esti- 
mation, than  the  English  Reader.  It  is  admitted  to  unite 
the  most  judicious  plan,  with  an  excellent  selection  of  mat- 
ter; but  as  it  has  long  been  the  principal  reading  book  used 
in  our  schools,  and  as  an  occasional  change  is  believed  to 
have  an  enlivening  and  salutary  effect  upon  the  learner,  I. 
have  ventured  to  offer  this  compilation  to  the  consideration 
of  those,  to  whose  hands  the  instruction  of  youth  may  have 
been  committed. 

Confidence  in  the  favorable  reception  of  this  offering  arises 
from  the  circumstance,  that  it  presents  a  selection  of  matter, 
a  portion  of  which  is  from  American  authors.  A  just  pride 
for  the  literary  reputation  of  our  own  country,  denies  the 
necessity,  or  even  the  propriety,  of  withholding  from  our 
youth,  in  the  books  of  our  primary  schools,  specimens  of  our 
own  literature — none  of  which  being  found  in  the  English 
Reader. 

Of  the  character  of  the  pieces  best  calculated  for  the  im- 
provement of  learners  in  reading,  a  diversity  of  opinions  may 
he  entertained.  Should  a  want  of  adaptation  to  juvenile 
taste  be  urged,  I  would  reply  only,  that  I  have  designed  i 
:  rmcipaliy  for  the  first  class  of  learners  in  our  common 
.-choots,  whose  taste  it  is  hoped  it  may  have  a  tendency  to 
mature.  In  making  the  selections,  an  avoidance  of  what  in 
ludicrous,  and  a  rejection  of  what  is  unchaste,  iijimoral,  or 
liensive  to  the  eye  or  ear  qf  the  most  refmed  taste,  have 
i.een  strictly  observed. 

AVith  a  view  of  adding  essentially  to  the  value  of  this  vol 
ume,  not  only  in  tne  hands  of  the  learner,  but  in  the  hands 
of  the  community,  I  have  added  a  concise  history  of  our 
country  at  a  most  interesting  period, — the  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence— a  document  which  is  justly  esteetned  our  na- 
tion's boast, — and  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States ; 
with  all  which  Americans  neither  in  youth  nor  mature  age 
can  be  too  familiar.  Should  the  third  part  of  this  book, 
however,  in  which  these  are  embraced,  be  thought   not  to 

lvilJ.1713 


afford  profitable  lessons  for  the  exercise  of  young  and  inex 
perienced  readers,  it  may  be  reserved  for  thern,  with  undi- 
minisiied  value,  when  in  a  greater  state  of  advancement. 

Several  modern  writers  on  the  subject  of  school  education, 
whose  opinions  are  entitled  to  muck  regard,  have  expressed 
their  belief  that  no  rules  for  the  management  of  the  voice  in 
reading  can  be  of  any  value.  This  opinion,  so  far  as  it  re- 
lates to  the  younger  classes.of  learners,  is  undoubtedly  cor- 
rect :  but  as  many  of  the  first  principles  of  elocution  can  be 
clearly  illustrated,  and  applied  to  practical  use  by  a  little 
effort  on  the  part  of  the  more  advanced  learner,  it  appears 
to  me  that  books  of  this  kind,  designed  for  the  benefit  of 
schools,  must  be  deficient  without  them.  Could  every  school 
in  the  country  be  under  the  instruction  of  a  master  of  Elocu- 
tion, the  necessity  would  in  a  measure  cease  to  exist.  But 
this,  unhappily,  is  not  the  case.  Many  of  those  who  engage 
in  the  instruction  of  youth,  require  themselves  the  instruction 
they  are  expected  to  give,  and  have  perhaps  no  other  means 
of  acquiring  it,  than  from  these  elementary  books  from  which 
it  would  be  withheld. 

In  this  stereotype  edition,  some  few  alterations  have  been 
made ;  but  the  book  contains  as  much  matter  as  the  former 
edition,  and  its  use  with  it  will  not  be  found  very  inconve- 
nient. It  is  now  offered  to  the  public  in  a  permanent  shape; 
and  from  the  verv  favorable  reception  of  the  first  edition,  it 
will,  I  trust,  continue  to  receive  a  patronage  commensurate 
with  its  value. 

M.  S. 


RExMARKS 


UPON    THE    PRINCIPLES    OF    GOOD  PvEADING 


An  ability  to  read  in  a  correct  and  interesting,  manner  has  becorne 
indispensably  requisite  for  all  who  would  hold  a  respectable  station  in 
society  ;  and  not  only  should  its  acquisition  be  considered  as  a  polite 
accouiplishmcnt,  but  as  a  talent  subservient  to  the  purposes  of  business, 
an<i  of  rational  emjoyment. 

There  are,  indeed,  but  few  persons  in  this  country,  who  are  unable 
to  read  with  some  degree  of  correctness  ;  yet  those  who  may  be  called 
good  readers  are  less  frequently  met  with  than  is  generally  ima- 
gined. Perfection  in  the  art  of  reading,  requires  a  natural  talent,  joined 
to  the  most  persevering  industry  :  and  although  it  is  a  point  to  which 
few  if  any  are  ever  able  to  arrive,  yet  every  approach  to  it  is  of  compa- 
rative value,  and  worth  the  effort  required  for  its  attainment. 

Perhaps  there  cannot  be  a  more  unerring  standard  fixed  for  reading 
than  to  adopt  the  same  easy  and  natural  mode  that  we  would  in  com- 
mon conversation.  In  the  lattt^r  our  object  is  to  communicate  our  own 
ihoughts  ;  in  the  former  to  communicate  the  thoughts  of  others  ;— and 
ill  1)0 th  we  wish  to  do  it  in  the  manner  calculated  to  make  us  best 
understood.  By  this  remark  we  do  not  design  to  recommend  to  those, 
who  have  adopted  a  careless  manner  of  conversation,  the  adoption  of 
a  similar  one  in  reading ;  but  the  same  rules  which  serve  to  improve 
the  one,  may,  by  their  application,  have  the  same  happy  effect  upon  the 
other.  But  let  it  be  distinctly  understood,  that  no  rules  can  be  given 
for  the  management  of  the  voice  in  reading,  which  independent  o^fctl- 
insr^  can  insure  the  object  desired.  "  Emotiun,"  says  a  distinguished  wri- 
ter, "  is  the  thing.  One  flush  of  passion  on  the  cheek,  one  beam  of  feel- 
ing from  the  eye,  one  thrilling  note  of  sensibility  from  the  tongue,  have 
a  tliousand  times  more  value  than  any  exemplification  of  mere  rules, 
where  feeling  is  absent." 

The  observations  which  we  shall  make  upon  the  principles  of  read- 
ing, or  manner  of  delivery,  will  be  comprised  under  the  following 
heafis  :  ARTicuLATioisr,  Accent,  Emphasis,  Inflection,  Monotonb. 
aiui  Modulation,  with  a  few  remarks  upon  the  Reading  of  Verse 

41 

1.  Articulation. 

A  GOOD  articulation  consists  in  a  clear  and  distmct  utterance  of  the. 
difT^rent  sounds  of  the  language;  and  is  one  of  the  most  important 
particulars  to  be  considered.  No  niattcr  upon  what  subject  or  upon 
what  occasion  a  man  may  read  or  speak  to  his  fellow  men,  he  never 
will  be  listened  to  for  any  length  of  time,  unless  he  be  distinctly  heard, 
and  that  without  effort  on  the  part  of  his  hearers.  No  interest  of  the 
subject  can  excuse  a  rapid  and  indistinct  utterance.    Many  there  are 


0  REMARKS   UPON    THE 

who  fail  in  this  particular.  Some  persons  have  natural  impediments, 
which  render  the  utterance  of  certain  sounds  quite  difficult;  but  an 
ind-i^tinct  articulation  more  frequently  arises  from  a  want  of  care  to 
atoid  it,  and*  f\-ow]'h'  to^  much  indulged  disposition  in  children  when 
learning  l6  read, 'to  htirr^'over  their  lessons  with  a  rapidity  which  ren- 
ders Uiem.  rjialjJe  taar&icutatc),  distinctly,  the  unaccented  syllables. — 
^.«ji  ;t,j,n4ay  her^ipe  o'oaerved,  that  teachers  cannot  too  sedulously  ^uard 
iheir  pupilo' against  *t'hfs  practice — a  practice  which,  if  tolerated  m  the 
young  reader,  will  soon  become  a  confirmed  habit — an  uncompromasing 
barrier  to  a  good  deliver;/. 

Those  who  have  been  accustomed  to  converse  with  persons  partially 
deaf,  can  well  appreciate  the  importance  of  distinct  utterance.  A 
moderate  voice  with  a  clear  articulation,  is  much  more  readily  heard  by 
such  persons,  than  an  indistinct  one  however  loud  :  and  it  is  from  the 
same  cause  that  a  man  with  hut  a  feeble  voice,  can  make  himself  better 
understood  by  a  large  assembly,  than  the  possessor  of  a  powerful  one 
without  an  observance  of  a  just  articulation.  It  was  to  a  defect  in  his 
articulation  that  Demosthenes  attributed  the  failure  which  attended  his 
first  efforts  in  public  speaking  ;  'and  to  his  success  in  surmounting  this 
difliculiy,  we  may  attribute  his  elevation  from  an  uninteresting  speaker 
to  one  of  the  most  renowned  orators  of  any  age. 

One  of  the  sources  of  an  indistinct  articulation,  may  be  traced  to  an 
inattention  in  giving  the  proper  sounds  to  the  unacce7itcd  roircfs.  In 
many  words  by  a  careless  articulation  one  vowel  is  substituted  for 
another;  thus, — for  educate,  we  hear  cd-e-cafe  ;  for  calculate,  cal-ke- 
»ate ;  for  populous,  'pon-c-lous ;  &c.  In  some  words  the  vowel  is  near- 
ty  or  quite  sitppressea  ;  as,  for  the  word,  prevail,  we  hear,  pr-rail ;  for 
uredict,  pr-dlrt ;  for  propose,  pr-pose ;  for  provide,  pr-vide,  &c.  The 
accented  vowels,  too,  in  words  which  are  followed  by  the  same  or  siirj- 
^ar  sounds,  are  often  but  indisthictly  uttered,  as  may  be  seen  by  the 
following  example  :— 

"Tho  oft  the  ear  the  open  vowels  lire." 

But  the  greatest  source  of  defective  articulation,  lies  in  the  circum- 
stance that  it  depends  mostly  upon  the  consonant  sounds,  many  of 
which  require  some  effort  to  articulate.  The  vowel  sounds  are  easil 
expressed;  but  many  of  the  consonants,  under  certain  arrangements 
j)f  letters,  are  hard  of  utterance,  and  are  often  not  articulated  at  all. 
This  is  particularly  the  case  where  the  termination  of  one  word  or 
syllable,  A'ith  one  or  more  consonants,  is  succeeded  by  a  simihir  ar- 
-angement  in  the  syllable  or  word  next  following,  as  was  the  case  with 
the  vowels  in  the  above  example.  Thud, — in  syllables, — attempt,  at- 
empt ;  afflict,  af-lkt ;  ennoble,  en-oble ;  tyranny,  ty-ran-y ;  appeal, 
ap-eal^  &c.  ' 

In  words, — 

Tlie  youth  hat e«  study. 
The  youth  hates  tudy. 

The  Rteadfa.'?!'  stranger  in  the  fore^/.s«frayed. 
The  steadtas  Zrange'i  in  the  fore*  Grayed. 

Not  only  are  words  often  mutilated  by  a  careless  articulation,  but  the 
meaning  o^  whole  sentences  is  often  rendered  obscure  or  perverted. 
For  mslance,  let  the  following  sentence  be  read  indistinctly; — "His 


PRINCIPLES    OF   GOOD   READING.  7 

teachers  ought  to  prove  his  work  ;"— and  whether  to  understand  thai 
"  his  teacliera  ought  to  prove  ;"  oi,  "  his  teacher  sought  to  prove  :"  «r, 
"his  teachers  ought  to  fi>;;prove  ;"  might  be  a  subject  of  unsatipfi'id 
anxiety.  In  the  following,  the  sense  is  entirely  perverted  by  notuller- 
uig  a  consonant  distinctly  : — 

The  horse  perforins  well  on  neither  side. 
The  horse  perforaici  well  on  either  side. 

Teachers  seldom  pay  suflicient  attention  to  this  branch  of  elocution, 
in  instructing  their  pupils.  It  is  the  basis,  upon  which  all  the  other 
properties  of  a  good  delivery  rest;  and  it  will  be  in  vain  to  press  pupila 
forward  in  the  hope  of  their  becoming  good  readers,  until  they  lirsi 
form  a  habit  of  distinct  utterance.  Those  who  have  acquired  a  habit 
of  indistinct  articulation,  should  be  made  to  read  glow,  and  with  a 
reference  solely  to  this  defect ;  and  this  practice  should  be  continued, 
until  a  correct  habit  be  formed. 

Whoever  will  listen  to  the  reading  or  speaking  of  others,  may  ob- 
serve that  a  bad  articulation  is  not  unfrequent.  Letters,  words,  and 
sometimes  parts  of  sentences,  are  often  so  nearly  suppressed,  or  blend- 
ed together,  as  almost  to  bafHe  all  efibri  to  apprehend  the  meaning. 
To  prevent  this,  requires  nothing  more  than  practice  upon  theelemeri 
tary  sounds  of  the  language;  and  a  daily  exercise  upon  them,  exclu- 
sively, in  reaoing  and  conversation,  would  be  attended  with  the  most 
profitable  results  to  all  who  are  defective  in  this  hnportnnt  attainment 
The  following  exercises  present  some  of  the  most  ditficult  sentences  to 
articulate : — In  reading  them,  let  every  word  be  separately  and  distinct- 
ly articulated : — 

The  finest  street  in  Naples. 
Ariisis'  worlvs  and  nature's  gifts  seduce. 
Divers  strifes  ceasetli  their  rage. 
The  battle  lasts  still. 
Tlie  liosts  still  stood. 

Dp  the  high  hill  he  heaves  a  huge  round  stone. 

She  authoritatively  led  us  and  disinterestedly  labored  for  us ;  aVid  we  un- 
hesitatingly adinilted  her  reasonableness. 

AufcTi.v,  a  modern  writer  on  delivery,  says  :  "In  just  articulation  the 
words  are  not  to  be  hurried  over,  nor  precipitatea,  syllable  over  sylla- 
ble ;  nor,  as  it  were,  melted  together  in  a  mass  of  confusion.  They 
should  neither  be  abridged,  nor  prolonged  ;  nor  sM'allowed,  nor  for<;e(I, 
they  should  not  be  trailed,  nor  drawled,  nor  let  to  slip  out  carelessly,  so 
as  to  drop  unfinished.  They  are  to  be  delivered  out  from  the  lips  as 
beautiful  coins,  newly  issued  from  the  mint ;  deeply  and  accurately  im- 
pressed ;  perfectly  finistied  ;  neatly  struck  by  the  proper  organs;  dis- 
tinct ;  in  due  succession,  and  of  due  weight. 

II.  Accent. 

Although  under  the  head  of  articulatioffVe  have  urged  the  distinct 
utterance  of  all  the  syllables  of  a  sentence,  yet  every  word  of  more 
than  one  syllable,  requires  a  greater  stress  of  the  voice  upon  some  one 
of  Its  syllables  than  upon  the  rest,  which  stress  is  denominated  acceiit. 
The  syllable  on  which  the  accent  is  placed,  is  in  most  words  estabhshed 
by  custom  and  the  sense  is  not  dependent  upon  it :  but  in  some  few 
words  the  meaning  is  established  by  the  accent.  This  may  be  the  case 
while  the  word  is  the  same  part  of  speech  ;  as,  desert,  (a  wilderness) 


8  REMARKS   UPON   THE 

dcscri,  (merit) — to  cor?jure,  to  conjure,  &c.  Tlie  accent  also  distinguish- 
es between  the  same  word  used  as  a  noun  and  an  adjective  ;  as,  min- 
we,  mmuie  ;  cornpact,  com;)ac^  ;  and  it  also  distinguishes  between  the 
noun  and  the  verb  ;  as,  corahict,  to  couduct ;  i7jsult,  to  msnlt,  &-c.  Ac- 
cent is  sometimes  controlled  by  emphasis  ;  and  in  words  which  liavea 
sameness  of  iorm,  but  are  contrasted  in  sense,  it  frequently  falls  uj>on 
syllables  to  which  did  not  the  emphasis  require  it,  ii  would  not  belong; 
as,  He  shall  mcrease,  but  I  shall  decrease;  there  is  a  dilTerence  be- 
tween giving,  ai.d  forgiving.  Although  the  meaning  of  comparatively 
but  few  words  is  aiVycted  by  the  accent,  its  proper  use  tends  to  pro- 
mote the  harmony  of  utterance,  and  should  be  governed  by  the  most 
ai)proved  usage  and  taste. 

III.  Emphasis.- 

Kmpha-^is  is  the  forcible,  and  peculiar  utterance  of  those  words  of  a 
sentence,  upon  which  the  meaning  depends.  On  the  right  use  of  em- 
phasis rest  the  whole  beauty  and  intelligence  of  delivery.  When  it  is 
not  used  at  all,  discourse  becomes  heavy  and  insipid  ;  and  if  it  be  used 
wron^,  it  must  be  at  the  expense  of  the  meaning  of  the  author,  whose 
ideas  ii  is  the  object  of  reading  to  attain. 

To  give  rules  by  which  tlie  proper  use  of  emphasis  may  be  learned, 
without  entering  into  the  meaning  and  spirit  of  the  composition,  is  not 
possible.  It  is  governed  by  the  sentiment,  and  is  inseparably  associated 
with  thought  and  emotion.  The  right  use  of  emphasis  indeed  requires, 
not  only  an  understanding  of  the  author's  meaning,  but  a  correspond- 
ingjeeling  on  the  part  of  the  reader:  for,  although  by  an  understand- 
ing of  the  meaning  of  a  sentence  we  may  be  able  to  point  out  the  em- 
phatic words,  yet  without  entering,  to  a  certain  extent,  into  the  same 
feeling  which  dictated  the  sentiment,  that  peculiar  modulation  of  em- 
phasis which  constitues  the  beauty  of  delivery,  and  which  alone  can 
express  the  true  meaning,  and  the  whole  meaning  of  the  author,  can- 
not be  exercised. 

Strong  emphasis  is  sometimes  required  upon  words  in  consideration 
of  their  absolute  importance  ;  but  its  principal  use  is  to  enforce  partic- 
ular ideas,  in  contradistinction  from  others,  which  are  supposed  to  have 
been  hitherto  entertained,  or  which,  it  is  feared,  may  be  at  present 
received.  The  learner  will  observe  that  in  almost  every  case,  where  a 
word  requires  emphasis,  there  is  some  other  idea,  suggested  in  oppo- 
sition to  that  expressed  by  the  word  emphasized,  and  from  which  the 
emphasis  invites  the  particular  distinction.  In  some  sentences 
this  oppcjsite  or  antithetic  idea  is  expressed  in  words,  but  more  frequent- 
1  ly  it  is  not.  When  it  is  expressed,  the  words  forming  both  parts  of  the 
antithesis  receive  the  emphasis,  and  there  can  be  no  difficulty,  in  dis- 
covering them, — as  in  the  following  couplet  from  Pope  : — 

'T5s  hard  to  say  if  greater  want  of  skill 
A  ppear  in  wriiing]  or  in  judging  ill. 

But  when  the  word  or  words  in  opposition  are  not  expressed,  reliance 
IS  placed  upon  the  understanding  to  supply  them.  Brutus,  in  Shaks- 
peare  3  Julius  Cesar,  says  to  Cassius, — "  You  wronged  yourself  to 
write  in  such  a  case."— Here  but  one  part  of  the  antithesis  is-expressed, 
and  the  judgment  of  the  reader  must  discover  the  other  by  the  sense, 
or  the  emnhasis  will  not  be  nehtlv  placed.    Let  n«  I'^ok  for  the  mean- 


PRINCIPLES    OF    GOOD    READING.  9 

ing.  Brutus  in  ninking  this  assertion,  did  it  under  the  impression  that 
Cassiiis  thought  himself  injured  by  some  other  'person.  Taking  this, 
then,  for  the  antithetic  iden,  iind  the  one  which  Brutus  wished  to  con- 
trovert, the  emphasis  is  invohmtarily  thrown  upon  yourself^  and  this 
makes  the  sentence  express  its  true  meaning,— thus  : 

You  wronged  ymirsalfio  write  in  sucli  a  case. 

The  following  short  sentence  may  be  the  appropriate  answer  to  either 
of  five  (hflerent  questions ;  and  consequently  be  made  to  express  so 
many  diiierent  ideas  by  the  emiihasis  alone  ; 

Thomas  will  walk  to  Geneva  to-day. 

If  the  question  be,  who  will  walk  to  Geneva  to-day,  it  is  determined 
by  placing  the  emphasis  in  this  sentence  on  lliomas.  If  it  is  doubtful 
whether  any  one  go,  it  is  decided  by  placing  the  emphasis  on  will.  If 
the  question  be  how  will  he  go,  it  is  answered  by  placing  the  emphasis 
on  walk ;  and,  in  the  same  manner  it  will  be  seen  that  the  emphasis, 
placed  upon  either  of  the  remaining  words  of  the  sentence,  makes  it 
the  appropriate  answer  to  the  question  touching  place  or  time. 

This  example  will  further  illustrate  the  subject,  by  so  transposing 
it  as  to  make  it  interrogative.  The  character  of  the  answer  will  depend 
wholly  upon  the  emphasis. 

Will  Thonfias  walk  (o  Oeneva  to-day  1 

Ansirpi- — No;  he  will  710^ 
Will  Thomas  walk  to  Geneva  to-day  1 
,     An~i.  No  ;  bui  Juhn  will. 
Will  Thomas  tc  ft /A-  lo  Geneva  to-day  7 

AriJi.  No  ;  he  will  ride. 
Win  Thomas  walk  to  Geneva  to-day  1 

Ans.  No.     lie  will  <ro to  Lyons. 
Will  'rh(nna.s  walk  to  Geneva  lu-day  7 

Alts.  No  ;  but  lie  will  tu-inorrow. 

Although  the  emphasis  more  commonly  falls  upon  the  more  impor- 
tant words  of  a  sentence,  the  following  example  is  one,  in  which  it  is 
required  upon  a  succession  of  small  words.  Bassanio,  in  Shakspeare's 
Merchant  of  Venice,  had  received  a  ring  from  his  wife,  which  he  had 
promised  never  to  part  with,  but  which,  forgetting  his  promise,  he  gave 
to  an  oflGicer  as  a  reward  for  the  preservation  of  his  friend's  life.  The 
example  is  his  apology  to  his  wife;  but  without  the  proper  emphasis  it 
is  hardly  intelligible  ;— 

"  If  yon  did  know  /o  whom  T  jrave  the  ring, 

If  you  (lid  ktiow/c/?  wliom  1  i^ave  the  ring,  - 

And  would  con(!tMvp  for  irhut  1  gave  the  ring, 

And  liow  Hrnrillingiy  I  left  the  ring, 

Wnen  noniilit  would  beaccopted  hui\}\f  ring, 

Vou  would  abate  the  strength  of  your  displeasure." 

Thus  far  our  remarks  on  emphasis  have  been  confined  to  what  inay 
oe  called  single  emphasis ;  that  is,  where  the  emphasis  is  absolute,  and 
arises  from  the  importance  of  the  word  in  itself  considered  ;  or,  where 
the  two  words  in  antithesis  are  expressed  ;  or,  where  but  one  is  ex- 
pressed and  the  other  understood— the  most  common  case.  Thereare 
also  msfances  where  two  emphatic  word.*  are  oppo>:ed  to  two  otliers  ; 
anc  sometiiTKis  where  three  words  are  op}>osed  to  three  others  m  the 
same  sentence.     We  will  give  an  example  of  each  of  these  cases. 


10  REMARKS    UPON    THE 

1st.  "  Wtere  and  tchat  art  tlion,  execrable  shape  ?" 
'■'■Arnir!  warriors,  arvi  for  fight !" 
"Wo  unto  you,  Pharisees  /" 
"A7igeis,  and  inhiisicrs  of  grace^  defend  us  !" 

fin  the  above  examples  the  emphasis  is  absolute,  there  being  no  antithesis 
expressed  or  necessarily  implied.] 

2d.  "  I  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart." 

flu  this  sentence  the  antithesis  is  expressed  ;  and  we  can  hardly  do  other- 
wise than  place  the  emphasis  upon  both  gold  and  heart.] 

3d.  "  Exercise  and  temperance  strengthen  even  an  indifferent  constitution." 
fin  this  tlie  antithetic  idea  is  understood:— it  is,  that  not  a  good  constitution 

merely,  is  strengihened  by  exercise  and  temperance,  but  even  an  indifferent 

one.] 

4th.  "The  pleasures  of  the  inlaglnation  are  not  eo  gross  as  those  of  scTwe, 
nor  60  refintd  as  those  of  the  understanding.^' 

[Here  are  two  antitheses;  gross  diiid  refined  forming  one,  and  sense  and  un* 
dtrstuiiding  the  other.] 

Tith.  "If  his  principles  kto false,  no  apology  from  himself  can  make  them 
right ;  if  founded  in  truth,  no  censurr^  from  others  can  make  them  wrong." 

[In  tJiis  example,/a/se  stands  opposed  to  truth,  himself  to  others,  and  right 
to  tcrong.] 

"In  order  to  acquire  the  proper  manngement  of  the  emphasis,"  says 
Murray,  "the great  rule  to  be  given  is,  tliat  the  reader  study  to  attain 
a  just  conception  of  the  force  and  spirit  of  the  sentiments  which  he  is 
to  pronounce.  For  to  hiy  the  emphasis  with  exact  propriety,  requires 
a  constant  exercise  of  good  sense  and  attention.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
decisive  trials  of  a  true  and  just  taste,  and  must  arise  from  feeling  deli- 
cately ourselves,  and  from  judging  accurately  of  what  is  fittest  to  strike  - 
the  feelings  of  others." 

IV.  Inflections. 

Inflkctions  are  bendings  or  slides  of  the  voice  from  one  key  to 
nnoib.er.  They  may  be  divided  into  the  rising  inflection,  the  falling 
ivfitction,  and  the  circnwjiex.  In  the  use  of  the  rising  inflection,  we 
strike  the  word  to  which  it  belongs,  upon  a  note,  on  the  scale  of  musical 
sounds,  a  httle  below  the  general  key  upon  which  we  are  speaking, 
and  terminate  upon  a  note  about  as  much  higher,  turning  the  word 
with  our  voice  in  this  direction,  (,/).  The  falling  inflection  is  the 
reverse  of  this,  ( X)  striking  the  word  upon  a  key  a  little  above,  and 
terminating  a  little  below  the  general  speaking  key. — By  the  general 
key  we  mean  that  sound  of  the  voice  which  preponderates,  and 
wiiich  would  be  heard  at  a  distance  too  great  to  distinguish  one  word 
from  another.  The  clnnimfle.x  is  a  bending  of  the  voice  downward, 
and  returning  with  it  in  a  curve,  thus,  (  O  )  to  the  same  key  upon  the 
same  word. 

Although  the  inflections  are  a  distinct  property  of  elocution,  they 
are  yet  so  intimately  connected  with  emphasis,  that  in  our  remarks 
we  shall  consider  them  mostly  as  but  a  quahty  of  it.  The  rising  in- 
iVction  is  indeed  often  used  without  any  emphasis ;  as  at  the  suspend- 
ing pause  which  occurs  in  compound  sentences,  to  denote  the  sentence 
is  unfinisiied  ; — the  falling  is  used  at  the  close  of  sentences  ; — and  both 
the  ri&^n^  and  falling  often  occur  where  there  should  be  btit  httle  or  no 
emphasis,  and  contiibute  in  no  email  degree  to  the  beauty  of  delivery. 


PRINCIPLES    OF    GOOD    READING.  11 

But  we  shall  now  consider  only  the  more  important — the  significant 
inflections;  those  upon  tlie  tx)rrect  use  of  which  the  nieunmg  and 
force  of  composition  depend; — leaving  the  learnerj  unincumbered  by 
rules  which  perplex  rathtr  than  mstruct,  to  make  a  practical  ai)piica- 
iioii  of  tiieni  to  the  less  nnporiant  parts  of  composition  as  his  judgment 
may  direct. 

Palling  Injlcction. 

The  failintij  inflection  is  used  where  the  lanoruageis  bold  and  energe- 
tic ;  where  a  positive  assertion  is  made ;  or  where  an  indirect  questioa 
is  asked. 

EXAMPLES.  * 

Who  first,  seducof]  them  to  that  foul  revolt  1 

The  infernal  sdrpent. 

Where  is  bOasiiuf:  tlienl    It  is  excluded. 

Bm  Jesus  said,  why  t^uipt  ye  ine,  y^i  Hypocrites ! 

I  insist  upon  this  point ;  I  urge  you  to  it ;  press  it;  require  it ;  nay,  demand 
it  of  you. 

Wiiat,  Tuboro,  did  that  naked  swDrd  of  yours  mean,  at  rlic  battle  of  Pharsai- 
Iia7  At  wiiose  breasJt  was  it  aimed?  What  was  the  meaning  of  your  armsl 
your  spirit,  your  e^es,  your  liauds,  your  ardor  of  sDul  ? 

Rising  Injlection. 

The  rising  inflection  accompanies  the  weaker  emphasis,  where  the 
enunciation  of  thought  is  tender,  conditional,  or  incomplete. 

EXAMPLES. 

And  he  lifted  up  his  eyes  and  saw  his  brotlier  Benjamin,  his  niotncr  a  sCn, 
and  said,  is  this  vour  younger  brother  of  whom  you  spake  to  uie  .' 

If  some  of  the  Ijranches  he  broken  6ff,  and  thou,  being  a  wild  olive  tre^,  wt- it 
grafted  in  among  them,  and  with  them  partake  of  the  root  and  latne;^^*  ui"  ihe 
olive  tree  :  boatit  not  again.<t  the  branches. 

The  beauty  of  a  plam,  the  greatness  of  a  ni6untain,  the  ontaments  of  a  build- 
ing:, the  expression  of  a  picture,  the  composition  of  a  disconrst;,  the  conduct  of 
a  ttiird  person,  the  properties  of  different  quantities  and  numbers.— all  the  o^e- 
neral  subjects  of  science  and  taste, — are  what  we  and  our  compauions  regard, 
as  liaving  no  peculiar  relauon  to  eitlier  of  us. 

This  inflection  is  also  used  \vith  the  direct  question,  or  that  which 
adfuits  oi yts  or  no  for  the  answer  ;  as, — Are  you  going  to  Geneva? 

Do  you  go  to-day?— But  if  the  same  question  be  repeated,  as  if  ai 
first  not  heard  or  understood,  it  takes  in  the  repetition  the  more  forci- 
ble emphasis  of  the  faUing  inflection  ;  as— Are  you  going  to  Geiir-va? 
Are  vou  going  to  Geneva?— Is  this  your  book?—"  Sir?"— Is  this  your 
book? 

When  fhe  disjunctive  or  connects  words  or  phrases,  it  has  the  rising 
uiflectionTbcfore,  and  the  falling  after  it. 

EXAMPLES. 

Did  he  act  coura<]^eous]y,  or  ofiwardly  7 

Do  you  JO  to  New  Y6rk,  or  to  BOstonl 

Would  you  be  happy,  or  linhappy  ?  / 

Is  it  l.'LwYul  on  the  Sabbaih  day  to  do  good,  or  to  do  Svill — to  save  life,  or  lo 
deatrdyiti 

Has  God  forsakiin  the  works  of  his  own  hands  ?— -or  does  he  always  gracious- 
ly preserve  and  keep,  and  guide  them. 


12  REMARKS   UPON   THE 

But  when  or  is  used  conjunctively^  it  has  the  same  inflection  after  as 
before  it ;  as, 

Would  a  belief  of  divine  revelation  contrihutejo  make  rulers  less  tyrannical, 
or  subjects  less  gdvernable  ]— He  is  a  man  of  wisdoru ;  or,  at  least,' of  great 
learning. 

When  affirmation  and  negation  are  opposed  to  each  other,  that  which 
affirms  has  generally  the  faihng,  and  that  which  denies  the  rising  in- 
flection. 

EXAMPLES. 

I  spoke  of  his  integrity,  not  of  his  talent. 

1  am  io'mg  to  R5chester,  not  to  D  i/jkio. 

He  was  not  esteemed  for  his  wealth,  but  for  his  wisdom. 

I  have  not  been  reading  Milton,  but  Hdnier. 

Thinic  not  that  the  influence  of  devotion  is  confined  to  the  retirement  of  the 
cl6set,  and  tlie  ass<«ubly  of  the  saints;  Imagine  not,  that,  unconnected  with  the 
duties  of  life,  it  is  suited  only  to  those  enraptu»-ed  souls,  whose  feelings  perha|)s 
you  deride  as  romantic  and  visionary  :— It  is  the  guardian  of  innocence— it  is 
the  instrument  of  virtue— it  is  a  mean  by  which  every  good  atfection  may  be 
formed  and  improved. 

Tlic  Circumjlex, 

The  circumflex  is  used  to  express  ideas  ironically,  hypothetically,  or 
comparatively  ;  or  when  something  is  rather  insinuated  than  strongly 
expressed. 

EXAMPLES. 

They  tell  lis  to  l)e  moderate ;  but  they,  they  are  to  revel  in  profusion. 
If  men  see  our  faults  they  will  talk  among'ihemselves,  though  we  refuse  to 
let  them  talk  to  us. 
He  has  n;ore  art  than  sctence. 

'^'ou  were  paiil  to  f  iglit  against  Alexander,  not  to  rail  at  him. 
It  may  teach  us  priidence,  if  we  derive  from  it  no  other  benefit. 

Were  we  to  nsk  a  physician  concerning  a  sick  person,  and  receive  in 
reply— "He  is  better"— we  might  suppose  him  to  be  yet  dangerously 
sick,— the  circumflex  giving  us  an  idea  only  of  a  sight,  or  comparative 
amendment,— but  were  he  to  say~He  is  better— our  anxiety  for  hia 
saffty  would  be  at  once  removed. 

The  following  example  will  more  clearly  show  the  controlling  influ- 
ence which  tlie  inflection  has  upon  the  sense,  without  changing  the 
seat  of  the  emphasis  :— 

In  church  I  am  unable  to  suppress  evil  thoughts. 

The  idea,  Avhich  this  sentence  is  intended  to  convey,  is,  that  the  person 
making  the  assertion  is  subject  to  evil  thoughts,  which,  not  only  most 
places  of  resort,  but  even  the  sacredness  of  a  church  does  not  enable 
him  to  suppress.  Hence  it  should  be  read  with  the  strong  emphasis 
and  the  falling  inflection  upon  church;  thus—"  In  church  1  am  unable 
to  suppress  evil  thoughts."— Kut  if  the  circumflex  be  used  with  the 
emphasis,  a  different  idea  will  be  conveyed— it  will  be,  that  the  person, 
althousrh  in  most  places  not  subject  to  evil  thoughts,  is  in  church  pecu- 
liarly afflicted  by,  and  unable  to  suppress  them  ;  thus—In  church  I  am 
unafile  to  suppress  evil  thoughts. — We  will  take  another  example. 
Horatio  in  the  Fair  Penitent  says: 

"  I  will  not  turn  aside  from  my  loose  pleasure,  though  all  thy  force  be  armed 
to  bar  my  way." 


PRINCIPLES    OF   GOOD   READING.  H 

The  circumflex  upon  thy  implies  that  Horatio  looked  upon  the  oppo 
sinff  force  with  contempt ;  and  is  equivalent  to  saying,  "I  might  turn 
aside  for  a  respectable  opposition,  but  thy  force  is  not  worth  regard- 
ing." But  place  the  falliuij  inflection  upon  thy,  and  it  makes  it  a  mat- 
ter of  great  moment :— while  it  compliments  the  opposing  force,  it  de- 
clares a  determination  to  resist  it,  great  as  it  is. 

In  examining  the  principles  of  vocal  inflection,  the  ingenious  scholar 
will  find  both  amusement  and  instruction.  Without  being  understood, 
they  are  practiced  by  all,  intuitively,  when  the  stronger  emotions  are 
excited;  and  if  persons  could  strictly  pursue  the  dictates  of  nature  in 
these  respects,  they  would  never  err.*  But  the  force  of  habit  is  almost 
irresistible ;  and  when  this  is  formed  on  the  side  of  error,  nothing  but 
the  strongly  excited  emotions  can  disengage  its  bonds.  It  will  be  in 
vain,  therefore,  to  depend  upon  the  dictation  of  these  emotions ;  for 
they  .will  be  found  unerring  only  in  the  expressions  of  original  thought, 
— and  then  only  under  circumstances  as  above  described.  It  becomes 
necessary,  then,  that  the  doctrine  of  inflections  be  studied,  that  they 
may  be  applied  in  unimpassioned  discourse,  and  to  the  composition  of 
others — studied,  not  under  the  impression  that  the  principles  of  nature 
are  to  be  subverted,  but  discovered,  and  strictlv  followed. 

Porter,  in  spt^aking  of  the  importance  of  a  knowledge  of  the  princi- 
ples of  inflection,  says  :  "Analysis  of  vocal  inflections  bears  the  same 
relation  to  oratory,  that  the  tuning  of  an  instrument  does  to  music. 
The  rudest  performer  in  this  latter  art  knows,  that  his  first  business  is 
to  regulate  the  instrument  he  uses,  when  it  is  so  deranged  as  to  pro- 
duce no  perfect  notes,  or  to 'produce  others  than  those  which  he  in- 
tends. The  voice  is  the  speaker's  instrument,  which,  by  neglect  or 
mismanagement,  is  often  so  out  of  tune  as  not  to  obey  the  will  of  him 
who  uses  it.  To  cure  bad  habits  is  the  first  and  hardest  task  in  elo- 
cution. Among  instructors  of  children,  scarcely  one  in  fifty  thinks  of 
carrying  his  precepts  beyond  correctness  in  uttering  words,  and  a  me- 
chanical attention  to  pauses;  so  that  the  child  who  speaks  the  words  of 
a  sentence  distinctly  and  fluently,  and  "  minds  the  stops,"  as  it  is  called, 
is  without  scruple  pronounced  a  good  reader.  Hence,  among  the 
rmdtitude  who  consider  themselves  good  readers,  there  are  so  few  that 
give  by  their  voice  that  just  expression  of  sentiment,  which  constitutes 
the  spirit  and  soal  of  dehvery." 


V.  Monotone. 

Monotone  is  a  sameness  of  sound  upon  a  succession  of  syllables, 
like  the  repeated  strokes  Upon  a  bell.  It  has  the  peculiar  property  of 
rendering  composition  either  sublime  or  ridiculous,  according  as  it  may 
be  judiciously  or  injudiciously  used.  Nothing  is  more  disgusting  than 
a  dull  repetition  of  sounds  upon  the  same  pitch  of  the  voice,  resulting 
from  a  dullness  in  the  reader  or  speaker,  and  applied  In  common  dis- 
course. It  is  notwithstanding  used  with  the  most  happy  eflx3ct,  in  grave 
delivery,  m  the  expression  of  sublime  and  reverential  emotions,  and  in 
elevated  description.  The  following  examples  will  illustrate  it  as 
used  with  propriety : 

*  If  a  man  should  discover  his  own  house  on  fire,  he  would  not,  like  a  dis- 
tant and  dis^inierested  observer,  cry  fire'!  fire'!  fire'!~but  we  slioulcliiear  hia 
more  expressive  exclamation  of  fire !  fire !  fire  I 


14  REMARKS   UPON   THE 

"Shall  an  inferior  magistrate,  a  governor,  who  holds  his  whole  power  ef  the 
Roman  people,  in  aRoman  province,  within  sight  of  Italy,  bind  scourge,  torture 
witli  red  hot  plates  of  iron,  and  at  last  put  to  the  infamous  death  of  the  cross,  a 
Roman  citizen !" 

"Ilijjh  on  a  throne  of  royal  state,  which  far 
Outshene  the  wealth  of  Ormus  and  of  Inde ; 
Or  where  the  gorgeous  East,  with  richest  hand, 
Showers  on  her  kings  barbaric  pearl  and  gold, 
Satan  exalted  sat." 

In  the  foregoing,  the  monotone  adds  much  to  the  dignity  of  the  com- 
position.— The  examjjles  which  follow  present  a  striking  contrast : — to 
read  them  with  the  monotone  would  make  them  insipid  and  disgust- 
ing : — 

"What  the  weak  head  with  strongest  bias  rules, 
Is  pride,  the  never  failing  vice  of  fools." 

"  With  passions  unruffled,  untainted  by  pride, 

By  reason,  my  lite  let  me  square  ; 
The  wants  of  my  nature  are  cheaply  supplied; 

And  the  rest  are  but  folly  and  care." 

VI.  Modulation. 

By  Modulation  is  understood  that  pleasing  variety  in  the  manage- 
nicijf  of  the  voice,  which  constitutes  a  graceful  delivery.  It  is  one  of 
the  wost  important  acquisitions  of  a  good  speaker,  and  at  the,  same 
time  the  most  difficult  to  define. — In  an  extended  sense,  it  may  be  un- 
derstood as  including  every  modification  of  which  the  voice  is  capable. 
It  is  easier  to  point  out  the  defects  in  modulation  than  to  define  the 
constituents  of  its  excellence: — Of  those  we  shall  notice  a  few.  But 
in  order  to  be  fully  understood,  we  will  caution  the  learner  against 
confounding  high  %yith  loud^  and  low  with  soft  sounds.  A  person  may 
pronounce  a  word  in  a  voice  hardly  audible,  and  again  very  loud,  upon 
the  same  key,  or  equally  low.  He  may  do  the  same  upon  a  key  equally 
hii(h.  This  distinction  between  pitch  and  volume  of  sound,  must  be 
clearly  understood.     Let  the  following  line, 

"  Shall  Rome  be  taken  while  I  am  Consul  1" 

be  read  on  a  low  key  note,  and  with  a  small  voice.  Let  it  be  repeated 
several  times  in  succession,  a  httle  louder  each  time,  without  varying 
the  pitch  or  key  note,  and  the  ditierence  will  be  very  apparent. 

This  distinction  being  understood,  the  first  prominent  defect  in 
modulation  that  we  shall  notice,  consists  in  inflating  the  lungs  at  the 
beginning  of  each  sentence,  and  pouring  out  a  volume  of  sound,  which 
in  every  stage  of  progression  is  graduated  by  the  stock  of  breath  on 
hand.  The  first  part  of  the  sentence,  therefore,  is  uttered  with  a  loud 
voice,  and  generally  upon  a  high  key ;  but  terminates  in  a  low  and 
feeble  close.  This  manner  of  reading,  which  is  common,  is  illustrated 
by  the  following  example. — The  capital  letters  represent  the  greatest 
strength  of  sound,  which  gradually  falls  away  to  the  italic: — 

"  GENTLENESS  IS  THE  GREAT  AVENUE  to  imutual  enjoymenU 
AMIDST  THE  STRIFE  OF  INTERFERING  INTERESTS, 
IT  TEMPERS  THE  VIOLENCE  OF  CONTENTION,  and  keeps  alivb 
the  seeds  of  harmony.  IT  SOFTENS  ANIMOSITIES,  RENEWS 
ENDEARMENTS,  AND  bbnpers  the  countenance  of  man  a  refreshment 
to  man,^* 


PRINCIPLES   OF   GOOD   READING.  15 

Another  great  defect  in  modulation  arises  from  an  unskillful  effbrt 
to  avoid  the  monotone.  It  consists  in  a  periodical  elevation  of  the 
voice,  both  in  pitch  and  volume,  on  one  or  more  words  in  every  sen- 
tence ;  while  it  gently  undulates  upon  the  rest,  varying  but  little  from 
the  monotone.  Let  the  words  in  small  capitals  in  tfie  following  ex- 
ample, be  pront.unced  with  a  fuller  voice,  and  on  a  higher  key  than 
the  rest,  and  this  manner  of  reading  will  be  exhibited. 

"Our  sipht  is  the  most  perfect,  tlie  most  delightful  of  all  our  senses.  It  fills 
the  iniiid  with  the  largest  variety  of  ideas,  converses  with  its  objects  at 
GKEATEST  distance,  and  continues  the  longest  in  action  without  being  tired  or 
satiuied  with  its  proper  enjoyments.'' 

There  is  one  other  manner  of  reading  deservmg  of  notice.  It  is 
sometinies  adopted  in  the  pulpit,  from  the  mistaken  notion  that  it  adds 
solemnity  to  the  subject  matter.  It  consists  in  adopting  two  tones  of 
voice,  generally  two  or  four  notes  distant  from  each  other,  and  pro- 
nouncing every  word  upon  these  notes  changing  alternately  from  one 
to  the  other.  The  difference  between  this  manner,  and  that  exhibited 
in  the  last  example,  is,  that*  in  this,  several  words  are  often  sounded 
upon  the  higher  note  in  succession,  and  on  the  remaining  words  there 
is  no  vaifation  from  the  monotone.  This  manner  may  be  exhibited 
by  reading  the  words  in  Roman  letters,  m  the  example  following,  in 
a  strictly  monotonous  manner,  and  the  words  in  Italic  a  minor  third, 
or  tone  and  semitone  above  them  : — 

''  I  tell  you  though  you,  though  all  the  world  though  an  angel  from  heaveii^ 
should  declare  the  truth  of  it,  1  would  not  beUeve  it." 

The  learner  will  find  much  benefit  m  practicmg  upon  examples  like 
the  foregoing :  by  doin^  it  understandingly,  he  will  be  led  to  the  dis- 
covery of  his  own  peculiarity  of  manner,  if  he  have  any,  and  be  able 
to  apply  the  corrective. 

VII.   The  reading  of  Verse. 

The  same  rules  may  m  general  be  observed  in  the  reading  of  verse, 
that  apply  to  prose.  There  is,  however,  a  peculiar  charm  in  poetry, 
which  entitles  it  to  a  few  additional  remarks. 

First— Although  the  beauty  of  poetry  consists  in  the  smoothness 
and  harmony  of  its  numbers,' the  poetic  measure  should  not  be  permit- 
ted to  destroy  the  sense  by  usurpino^  the  proper  emphasis  or  accent. 
We  sometimes  hear  sentences  like  the  following,  read  thus  :— 

"False  elo-queyice,  like  t/ie  prismatic  glass. 
Its  gaudy  colors  spreads  on  every  place." 
"  And  felt,  from  lov'd  ones  far  away 
An  exile  from  Ameri-ca." 

In  some  cases,  when  the  metrical  and  the  customary  accent  do  not 
unite  upon  one  syllable,  they  can  both  be  indulged,  as  in  the  follow- 
mg:— 

"  Our  SM-jpreme  foe  iA  time  may  much  relent." 

It  is  a  general  rule,  however,  that  neither  the  rights  of  the  customary 
accent,  nor  the  emphasis,  should  be  infringed. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  pauses  which  belong  to  poetry :  the  ca3su- 
ral  pause,  which  falls  about  the  middle  of  the  line,  and  the  pause  a*  the 
end  of  It.  In  poetry  in  which  the  cae sural  pause  unites  with  a  divis- 
ion made  by  the  sense,  the  line  is  harmonious,  as  in  the  following  :— 


w 


16  REMARKS,    &C. 

"Warms  in  the  sun,  11  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 
Glows  in  the  stars,  II  and  blossoms  in  the  trees. 
Lives  through  all  life,  II  extends  ihrougli  all  extent, 
Spreads  undivided,  II  operates  unspent." 

But  when  the  csesiiral  pause  requires  a  place  which  the  sense  denies  to 
it,  a  difficulty  occurs.  The  only  alternative  in  such  cases  is  to  regard 
the  sense,  and  let  the  poet  be  answerable  for  the  consequences.  The 
following  presents  a  case  of  this  kind  : — 

"I  sit,  with  sad  civihty  I  read." 

Here  the  sense  requires  the  pause  after  sit,  and  it  would  do  it  violence 
not  to  observe  it,  although  the  melody  would  require  it  after  sarf, 
where  the  sense  denies  the  least  suspension  of  the  voice. 

In  reading  blank  verse,  the  sense  often  requires  no  pause  at  the  end 
of  the  hue ;  but  the  best  writers  on  this  subject  agree,  that  however 
intimately  connected  one  line  may  be  with  the  next  following  m  sense, 
there  should  be  a  sufficient  suspension  of  the  voice  at  the  end  to  ena- 
ble a  hearer  to  distinguish  one  hne  from  another.  The  following  will 
illustrate  it : — 

"O !  blest  of  Heaven,  whom  not  the  languid  songa 
Of  luxury,  the  syren  !  not  the  bribes  . . 
Of  sordid  wealth,  nor  all  the  gaudy  spoils  . . 
Of  pageant  honor,  can  seduce  to  leave  .. 
Those  ever  blooming  sweets,  which,  from  the  store  .. 
..<#      Of  Nature,  fair  Imagination  culls, 
To  charm  the  enlivened  soul." 

Walker,  in  speaking  of  this  pause,  says,—"  The  affectation  which 
most  writers  of  blank  verse  have  of  extending  the  sense  beyond  the 
line,  is  follov/ed  by  a  similar  affectation  in  the  printer,  who  will 
often <)mit  a  pause  at  the  end  of  a  line  in  verse,  when  he  w^ould  have 
inserted  one  in  prose;  and  this  affectation  is  carried  still  farther  by 
the  reader,  who  M'ill  run  the  sense  of  one  line  into  another  where 
there  is  the  least  opportunity  for  doing  it,  in  order  to  show  that  he  is 
ioo  sagacious  to  suppose  that  there  is  any  conclusion  in  the  sense,  be- 
^cause  the  line  concludes." 

When  the  vowels  e  and  o  in  poetry  are  apostrophized,  their  sounds 
should  not  be  entirely  omitted;  but  should  be  spoken  in  a  manner  so 
light,  as  easily  to  unite  with  the  following  syllable.  The  following  is 
an  example : — 

"  But  of  the  two  less  dang'rous  is  th'  offense, 
Who  durst  defy  th'  omnipotent  to  arms." 


NEW  ENGLISH  READER. 


PART  I. 

PIECES  IN  PROSE. 
CHAPTER  I. 

SELECT  SENTENCES. 
SECTION  I. 


The  great  business  of  man,  is,  to  improve  his  mind  and 
govern  his  manners. 

The  whole  universe  is  his  library ;  conversation  living 
studies ;  and  remarks  upon  them  are  his  best  tutors. 

Learning  is  the  temperance  of  youth,  the  comfort  of  old 
age,  and  the  only  sure  guide  to  honor  and  preferment.* 

Aristotle'^  says,  that  to  become  an  able  man  in  any  pro- 
fession Avhatever,  three  things  are  necessary, — which  are, 
nature,  study,  and  practice. 

To  endure  present  evils  with  patience,  and  wait  for  ex- 
pected good  with  long  suffering,  is  equally  the  part  of  the 
christian  and  the  hero. 

Adversity^  overcome,  is  the  highest  glory ;  and  willingly 
undergone,  the  greatest  virtue:  sufferings  are  but  the  trials 
of  gallant  spirits. 

li  is  a  Spanish  maxim*^ — he  who  loses  weditii.  ^osetji 
much ;  he  who  loseth  a  friend,  loseth  more  j  but  lie  who 
loseth  his  spirits,  loseth  all. 

There  is  no  man  so  contemptible, but  who,  in  distress,  re- 
quires pity.  It  is  inhuman  to^  be  altogether  insensible'  to 
another's  misery. 

Envyf  is  fixed  only  on  merit;  and,  like  a  sore-eye,  is  of- 
fended with  every  thing  that  is  bright.  [ 

Never  employ  yourself  to  discern  the  faults  of  others;  but 
be  careful  to  amend  and  prevent  your  own. 

a  Pre-fcr'-inent.  advancement  to  office,  d  Max'-im,  an  established  pruicipie. 
b  Ar-is-toMle,  a  wise  man  of  Greece.  e  In-sens'-i-ble,  ciestitur.»^  of  feeling, 
c  Ad-vers'-i-ty,  aflllctionj  calamity.  /En'-vy,  pain  excited  by  another's 

prosperity. 

2 


18  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   I. 

There  is  an  odious*  spirit  in  many  persons,  who  are  better 
pleased  to  detect  a  fault,  than  commend  a  virtue. 

TJiC  worthiest  people  are  most  injured  by  slanderers;  as 
we  uj^ually  find  that  to  be  the  best  fruit,  which  the  birds 
have  been  picking  at. 

If  §ome  are  reiined,  like  gold,  in  the  furnace  of  affliction, 
there  are  many  more,  who,  like  chaff,  are  consumed  m  it. 
Sorrow,  when  it  is  excessive,^  takes  away  fervor  from  piety, 
vigor  from  action,  health  from  the  body,  light  from  reason, 
and  repose  from  the  conscience. 

The  expectation  of  future  happmess,  is  the  best  relief  of 
anxious  thoughts,  the  most  perfect  cure  of  melancholy,  the 
guide  of  life,  and  the  comfort  of  death. 

Fear  unruly  passions  more  than  the  arrows  of  an  enemy ; 
and  the  slavery  of  them  more  than  the  fetters  of  a  conqueror. 

It  is  more  prudent  to  pass  by  trivial  offenses,  thanto 
quarrel  for  them :  by  the  last  you  are  even  with  your  adver- 
sary, but  by  the  first  above  him. 

Restrain  yourself  from  being  too  fiery  and  flaming  in  mat- 
ters of  argument.  Truth  often  suffers  more  from  the  heat 
of  its  defenders,  than  from  the  argument  of  its  opposers. 
Nothing  does  reason  more  right,  than  the  coolness  of  those 
who  offer  it. 

When  a  man  loses  his  integrity,  he  loses  the  foundation 
of  his  virtue. 

A  contented  mind  is  a  continual  feast ;  and  the  pleasure 
of  the  banquet  is  greatly  augmented,  by  knowing  that  each 
man  may  become  his  own  entertainer. 

Seneca^  says,  there  is  no  difference  between  possessing  a 
thing,  and  not  desiring  it. 

Be  very  cautious  of  speaking  or  believing  any  ill  of  your 
neighbors ;  but  be  much  more  cautious  of  making  hasty  re- 
ports of  them  to  their  disadvantage. 

Upon  whatsoever  foundation  happiness  is  built,  when  that 
foundation  fails,  happiness  must  be  destroyed;  for  wliich 
reason,  it  is  wisdom  to  choose  such  a  foundation  for  it,  as  is 
not  li^ble^  to  destructive  accidents. 

We  must  never  undervalue  any  person.  The  workman 
loves  not  that  his  work  should  be  despised  in  his  presence. 
God  is  present  every  v/here,  and  every  person  is  his  work. 

What  good  is  it  to  the  blind,  that  his  parents  could  see? 
What  benefit  is  it  to  the  dumb,  that  his  grandfather  was  elo- 
quent ?^  Even  so,  what  is  it  to  the  mean,  that  their  prede- 
cossors  were  noble? 

:  ^,  hateful,  very  offensive.        d  Son''-e-ca,  a  Roman  philosopher, 
-ive,  exceeding  just  limits,      e  Li'-a-ble,  subject,  responsible. 
c  i.  rr,'  i-al,  sziiall,  trilling.  /  El'-o-quexit,  speaking  with  elegance. 


Chap.  I.  select  sentences.  19 

Man  is  born  for  society ;  without  which,  virtue  would 
nave  no  followers ;  the  world  would  be  without  aliurementSj 
and  life  without  pleasures. 

It  is  natural  for  us  to  contract  the  passions  as  well  as  the 
habits  of  those  with  whom  we  are  Camiliar;  to  follow  their 
vices  as  well  as  to  imitate  their  virtues. 

Be  sincere  in  all  your  wcrds,  prudent  in  all  your  actions^ 
and  obliging  in  all  your  manners. 

He  who  begins  an  affair  without  judgment,  ought  not  to 
be  surprised  if  it  end  without  success. 

If  justice  direct  you  in  the  pursuit  of  gain,  tranquillity 
will  attend  you  in  the  enjoyment  of  it. 

He  who  looks  upon  the  misfortunes  of  others  with  indiffe- 
rence, ought  not  to  be  surprised  if  they  behold  his  own 
without  compassion. 

Seriousness  is  the  greatest  wisdom,  temperance  the  best 
medicine,  and  a  good  conscience  the  best  estate. 

The  two  great  ornaments  of  virtue,  which  exhibit  her  iii 
fairest  colors,  are  cheerfulness  and  good  nature. 

He  is  truly  wise,  who  can  patiently  endure  evil,  and  ra- 
tionally enjoy  good. 

We  are  more  indebted  to  our  parents  than  to  all  the  world 
besides.  To  other  persons  we  may  owe  much,  but  to  them 
we  owe  ourselves.  If  ingratitude*  t®  others,  therefore,  be 
hateful,  that  which  is  shown  to  parents  is  most  horrid  and 
detestable. 

The  human  soul  is  too  noble  in  itself  to  be  confined  to  the 
contemplation  of  earth,  or  the  enjoyment  of  vanity. 

Make  a  proper  use  of  your  time ;  and  remember  that 
when  it  is  once  gone  it  can  never  be  recalled. 

Attend  diligently  to  thy  business  j  it  will  keep  thee  from 
wickedness,  from  poverty,  and  from  shame. 

He  v/ho  harbors  malice  in  his  heart,  will  find 'to  his  sor- 
row, that  a  viper  has  been  nourished  in  his  bosom. 

Men  make  themselves  ridiculous,  not  so  much  by  the 
qualitiil  they  have,  as  by  the  affectation^'  of  those  they  have  n'  t. 

To  say  little  and  perform  much,  is  the  characteristic  ol  a 
great  mind. 

No  preacher  is  so  successful  as  time.  It  gives  a  turn  to 
thouglit  to  the  aged,  which  it  was  impossible  to  inspire 
while  they  were  young. 

The  injuries  we  do,  and  those  we  suffer,  tire  seldom 
weighed  in  the  same  balance. 

Men  generally  put  a  greater  value  upon  the  favors  iiiey 

bestow,  than  upon  those  they  receive. 

In-grat'-i-tude,  want  of  a  due  sense  of   b  Af-fect-a'-tion,  conceit,  fomi'ility 
favors. 


20  NEW  ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   I. 

He  who  is  puffed  up  with  the  first  e:ale  of  prosperity,  will 
bend  beneath  the  first  blast  of  adversity. 

Indulge  not  desire,  at  the  expense  of  the  slightest  article 
of  virtue  J  pass  once  its  limits,  and  you  fall  headlong  into  vipe. 


SECTION    II. 

To  be  angry,  is  to  punish  myself  for  the  fault  of  another. 

The  most  profitable  revenge,  the  most  rational,  and  the 
most  pleasant,  is,  to  make  it  the  interest  of  the  injured  per- 
son not  to  hurt  you  a  second  time. 

Precipitation*  ruins  the  best  contrived  plan ;  patience  ri- 
pens the  most  difficult. 

The  pensionary  De  Witt  being  asked  how  he  could  tran 
sact  sucii  a  variety  of  business  without  confusion,  answer 
ed,  that  he  never  did  but  one  thing  at  a  time. 

When  you  descant''  on  the  faults  of  others,  considei 
whether  you  be  not  guilty  of  the  same.  To  gain  knowl 
edgQ  of  ourselves,  the  best  way  is  to  convert  the  imperfec 
lions  of  others,  into  a  mirror<^  for  discovering  our  own. 

The  best  practical  rule  of  morality  is,  never  to  do  but 
what  we  are  willing  all  the  world  should  know. 

No  man  is  so  foolish  but  he  may  give  good  counsel  at  a 
time":  no  man  so  wise  but  he  may  err,  if  he  take  no  counsel 
but  his  own. 

He  w^iose  ruling  passion  is  love  of  praise,  is  a  slave  to 
every  one  who  has  a  tongue  for  detraction.** 

Vile  and  obscene®  expressions  are  the  sure  marks  of  an 
abject  and  grovelling  mind,  and  the  corrupt  overflowings  of 
a  vicious  heart. 

Modesty  in  your  discourse  will  give  a  luster  to  truth,  and 
an  excuse  to  your  errors. 

Speak  always  according  to  your  conscience  ;  but  let  it  be 
done  in  terms  of  good  nature,  civility,  and  good  manners. 

Common  swearing  argues  in  a  man  a  perpetual  distrust  of 
his  own  reputation,  and  is  an  acknowledgment  What  he 
thinks  that  his  bare  word  is  unworthy  of  credit. 

From  ill  air  we  take  disease ;  from  ill  company,  vices 
and  imperfections. 

Sincerity  of  heart  and  integrity  of  life,  are  the  great  and 
indispensable^  ornaments  of  human  nature. 

Useful  knowledge  can  have  no  enemies  except  the  igno- 
rant. It  ciierishes  youth,  delights  the  aged,  is  an  ornament 
in  prosperity,  and  yields  comfort  in  adversity. 

a-  Pre-cip-i-ta'-tion,  rash  haste.  e  Ob-scene',  offensive  to  chastity  and 

b  Des-cauf.  discourse,  comment.  delicacy. 

c  Mir'-ror.  a  looking  glass.  /In-dis-pens'-a-ble,  not  to  be  spared. 
d  De-trac^-tion,  slander,  defamation^ 


Chap.  I.  s^i^ct  sentences.  21 

Socrates  was  esteemea  the  wisest  man  of  his  time,  be- 
cause he  turned  his  acquired  knowledge  into  moralilyj  and 
aimed  at  goodness  more  than  greatness. 

Proud  men  never  have  friends ;  neither  in  prosperity  be- 
cause they  know  nobody  ;  nor  in  adversity,  because  then 
nobody  knows  them. 

A  good  conscience  is  to  the  soul,  what  health  is  to  the 
body  ;  it  preserves  a  constant  ease  and  serenity*  within  us, 
and  more  than  compensates  for  all  the  calamities  and  afflic- 
tions which  can  possibly  befall  us. 

Knowledge,  like  patrimonial^  possessions,  cannot  be  trans- 
mitted to  successors.     It  is  the  purchase  of  application. 

True  politeness  is  modest,  unassuming,  and  generous.  It 
appears  as  little  as  possible ;  and  when  it  does  a  polite  act, 
would  willingly  conceal  it. 

'Let  us  survey  the  natural  equality  on  which  providence 
has  placed  man  with  man,  and  reflect  on  the  infirmities  com- 
mon to  all.  If  the  reflection  on  natural  equality  and  mutual 
offences  be  insufficient  to  prompt  humanity,  let  us  at  least 
remember  what  we  are  in  the  sight  of  our  Creator.  Have 
we  none  of  that  forbearance  to  give  one  another,  which  we 
all  so  earnestly  entreat  from  heaven?  Can  we  look  for 
clemency <=  or  gentleness  from  our  Judge,  when  we  are  so 
backward  to  show  it  to  our  brethren. 

Modesty^  always  sits  gracefully  upon  youth;  it  covers  a 
multitude  of  faults,  and  doubles  the  luster  of  every  virtue 
which  it  seems  to  hide:  the  perfections  of  men  being  like 
those  flowers  which  appear  more  beautiful,  when  their  leaves 
are  a  little  contracted  and  folded  up,  than  when  they  are 
full  blown,  and  display  themselves  without  any  reserve  to 
the  view. 

He  who  every  morning  plans  the  transactions  of  the  day, 
and  follows  out  that  plan,  carries  on  a  thread  which  wiL^ 
guide  him  through  the  labyrinth*  of  the  most  busy  life 
The  orderly  arrangement  of  his  time,  is  like  a  ray  of  light 
which  darts  itself  through  all  his  affairs.  But,  where  no 
plan  is  laid,  where  the  disposal  of  time  is  surrendered 
merely  to  the  chance  of  incidents,  all  things  lie  huddled  to* 
getiier  in  one  chaos,^  which  admits  neither  of  distribution 
nor  review. 

Whatever  ornamental  or  engaging  endowments  you  now 
possess,  virtue  is  a  necessary  requisite,  in  order  to  their 
shining  with  proper  luster.  Feeble  are  the  attractions  of  the 
fairest  form,  if  it  be  suspected  that  nothing  within  corres- 

a  Se-ren'-i-ty,  clearness,  calmness.        d  Mod'-es-ty,  a  lowly,  unassiuninjj  tern- 
b  Pat-ri-mo'-ni-al,  deiived  by  inherit-  per. 

ance.  e  Lab'-y-rinth,  a  place  full  of  windiiij;' 

e  Clem'-en  cy,  lenity,  kindness.  /Cha'-ofi,  a  confused  mass,  disorder. 


22  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  pART  1. 

ponds  to  the  pleasing  appearance  without.  Short  are  the 
triumphs  of  wit,  when  it  is  supposed  to  be  the  vehicle  of 
malice. 

As  in  the  succession  of  the  seasons,  each,  by  the  invaria- 
ble laws  of  nature,  affects  the  productions  of  what  is  next  in 
course;  so  in  human  life,  every  period  of  our  age,  according 
as  it  is  well  or  ill  spent,  influences  the  happiness  of  that 
which  is  to  follow.  Virtuous  youth  gradually  brings  for- 
ward accomplished  and  flourishing  manhood ;  and  such 
manhood  passes  off  itself  without  uneasiness,  into  respecta- 
ble ai  d  tranquil  old  age. 


CHAPTER    II. 

NARRATIVE   PIECES. 
SECTION    I. 

Catharina.^  Empress  of  Russia, 

1.  Catharina  Alexowna,  horn  near  Derpat,  a  little  city 
m  Livonia,  was  heir  to  no  oths^  inheritance*  than  the  virtues 
and  IVugality  of  her  parei.cs.  Her  father  b'^mg  dead,  she 
lived  with  her  aged  mother,  in  her  cottage  covered  with 
straw,  and  both,  though  very  poor,  were  very  contented. — 
Here,  r(?tired  from  the  gaze  of  the  world,  by  the  labor  of  her 
hands  she  supported  her  parent,  who  was  now  incapable  of 
supporting  herself. 

2.  Though  Catharina's  face  and  person  were  models^  of 
^perfection,  yet  her  whole  attention  seemed  bestowed  upon 
ler  mind.  Her  mother  taught  her  to  read,  and  an  old  Lu- 
aheran  minister  instructed  her  in  the  maxims  and  duties  of 
Teligioii.  Nature  had  furnished  her  not  only  with  a  ready, 
Dut  a  solid  turn  of  thought;  not  only  with  a  strong,  but  a 
right  understanding. 

3.  Catharina  was  fifteen  years  old  w^hen  her  mother  died. 
She  then  left  her  cottage,  and  went  to  live  with  the  Lutl-er- 
an  minister,  by  whom  she  had  been  instructed  firm  her 
childhood.  In  his  house  she  resided  in  quality  oi"  governess 
to  his  children;  at  once  reconciling*^  in  her  character,  uner- 
ring prudence  with  surprising  vivacity.^  The  old  nian,  who 
regarded  her  as  one  of  his  own  children,  had  her  instructed 

a  Tn-hor'-it-ance,  an  hereditary  estate,  c  Rec'-on-ci-ling,  bringing  to  agreement 
b  Mod'-eJs,  patterns.  <i  Vi-vac'-i-ty,  liveliness,  sprightline^s. 


3hAP.   II.  NARRATIVE   PIECIiS.  23 

in  the  eleg-ant  parts  of  female  education,  by  the  masters  v/ho 
attended  the  rest  of  his  family. 

4.  Thus  she  continued  to  improve  until  he  died  ;  by  which 
accident  she  was  reduced  to  her  former  poverty.  The  coun- 
try of  Livonia  was  at  that  time  wasted  by  war,  and  lay  in  a 
miserable  state  of  desolation.  Those  calamities  are  ever 
most  heavy  upon  the  poor;  wherefore,  Catharina,  though 
possessed  of  so  many  accomplishments,  experienced  all  the 
miseries  of  hopeless  indigence.*  Provisions  becoming  every 
day  more  scarce,  and  her  private  stock  being  entirely  ex- 
hausted, she  resolved  at  last  to  travel  to  Marienburgh,  a  city 
of  greater  plenty. 

5.  With  the  effects  of  her  scanty  wardrobe  packed  up  in 
a  wallet,  she  set  out  on  her  journey  on  foot.  She  was  to 
walk  through  a  region,  miserable  by  nature,  but  rendered 
still  more  hideous*'  by  the  Swedes  and  Russians,  who,  as 
each  happened  to  become  masters,  plundered  it  at  discre- 
tion: but  hunger  had  taught  her  to  despise  the  danger  and 
fatigues  of  the  way.  One  evening  upon  her  journey,  as  she 
had  entered  a  cottage  by  the  way-side,  to  take  up  her  lodg- 
ing for  the  night,  she  was  insulted  by  two  Swedish  soldiers. 

6.  They  might,  probably,  have  carried  their  insults  into 
violence,  had  not  a  subaltern'^  officer,  accidentally  passing 
by,  come  to  her  assistance.  Upon  his  appearing,  the  soldiers 
immediately  desisted;*  but  her  thankfulness  was  hardly 
greater  than  her  surprise,  when  she  instantly  recollected  in 
her  deliverer,  the  son  of  the  Lutheran  minister,  her  former 
instructor,  benefactor,  and  friend. 

7.  This  was  a  happy  interview  for  Catharina.  The  little 
stock  of  money  she  had  brought  from  home  was  by  this  time 
quite  exhausted  ;  her  clothes  were  gone,  piece  by  piece,  in 
order  to  satisfy  those  who  had  entertained  her  in  their 
houses:  her  generous  countryman,  therefore,  parted  with 
what  he  could  spare  to  buy  her  clothes  ;  furnished  her  with 
a  horse ;  and  gave  her  letters  of  recommendation  to  a  faithful 
friend  of  his  father,  the  superintendent*  of  Marienburgh. 

8.  The  beautiful  stranger  was  well  received  at  Marien- 
burgh. She  was  immediately  admitted  into  the  superin- 
tendent':^ family,  as  governess  to  his  two  daughters;  and 
though  hut  sev?ntec;i,  showed  herself  capable  of  instructing 
her  sex,  not  only  in  virtue,  but  in  politeness.  Such  were  her 
good  sense  and  beauty,  that  her  master  himself  in  a  short 
time  offered  her  his  hand,  which  to  his  great  surprise  she 
thought  proper  to  refuse.     Actuated  by  a  principle  of  griiti- 

a  In'-di  gence,  need  poverty.  d  De-sist'-ed,  stopt  from  action. 

b  Ilid'-e-ous,  friglitful,  horrible.  c  Su-per-in-tend'-ent,  an  overseer. 

G  Sub-al'-tern,  inferior,  subordinate. 


24  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   L 

tude,  she  resolved  to  marry  her  deliverer  only,  though  ht 
had  lost  an  arm,  and  wb.s  otherwise  disfigured  by  wounds 
received  in  the  service. 

9.  In  order,  therefore,  to  prevent  further  solicitations  from 
others,  as  soon  as  the  officer  came  to  town  upon  duty,  she 
offered  iiim  her  hand  which  he  accepted  with  joy,  and  their 
nuptials'^  were  accordingly  solemnized.  But  all  the  lines 
of  her  fortune  were  to  be  striking.  The  very  day  on  which 
they  v/ere  married,  the  Russians  laid  siege^  to  Marienburgh; 
and  the  unhappy  soldier  was  immediately  ordered  to  an  at- 

»ck  from  which  he  never  returned. 

10.  In  the  meantime  the  siege  went  on  with  fury,  aggra- 
vated on  one  side  bv  obstinacy,  on  the  other  by  revenge. — 
The  war  between  the  two  northern  powers  at  that  time  was 
truly  barbarous:  tlie  innocent  peasant,'^  and  the  harmless 
virgin,  often  shared  the  fate  of  the  soldier  in  arms.  Mari- 
enburgh was  taken  by  assault;  and  such  was  the  fury  of  the 
assailants,  that  not  only  the  garrison,^  but  almost  all  the  in- 
habitants, men,  women,  and  children  were  put  to  the  sword. 
At  length,  when  the  carnage®  was  pretty  well  over,  Catha- 
rina  was  found  hid  in  an  oven. 

11.  She  had  hitherto  been  poor,  but  free  ;  she  was  now  to 
conform  to  her  hard  fate,  and  learn  what  it  was  to  be  a  slave. 
In  this  situation,  however,  she  behaved  with  piety  and  hu- 
mility ;  and  though  misfortunes  had  abated  her  vivacity,  yet 
she  Avas  cheerful.  The  fame  of  her  merit  and  resignation, 
reached  even  prince  MenzikofT,  the  Russian  general.  He 
desired  to  see  her;  was  pleased  with  her  appearance,  bought 
her  from  the  soldier,  her  master  ;  and  placed  her  under  the 
direction  of  his  own  sister.  Here  she  was  treated  with  ali 
the  respect  which  her  merit  deserved,  while  her  beauty 
every  day  improved  with  her  good  fortune. 

12.  She  had  not  been  long  in  this  situation,  when  Peter 
the  Great  paying  the  prince  a  visit,  Catharina  happened  to 
come  in  with  some  dried  fruits,  which  she  served  round  with 
peculiar  modesty.  The  mighty  monarch  saw  her,  and  was 
struck  with  her  beauty.  He  returned  the  next  day  ;  called 
for  the  beautiful  slave ;  asked  her  several  questions ;  and 
found  the  charnis  of  her  mind  superior  even  to  those  of  her 
person. 

13.  He  had  been  forced,  when  young,  to  marry  from  mo- 
tives of  interest :  he  was  now  resolved  to  marry  pursuant' 
to  his  own  inclinations.     He  immediately  inquired  into  the 

a  Nup'  tials,  marriage.  •  d  Gar'-ri-son,  a  body  of  troops  in  a  fort. 

b  Siege,  the  besetting  of  a  place  with  e  Car'-nage,  slaughter. 

troops.  /  Pur-au'-ant,  done  in  consequence. 

Peas'-ant,  one  who  lives  by  rural  labor. 


(Chap.  II.  narrative  pieces.  25 

history  of  the  fair  Livonian,  who  was  not  yet  eighteen.  He 
traced  her  through  the  vale  of  obscurity  ;  through  the  vicis- 
situdes* of  her  fortune ;  and  found  her  truly  great  in  them 
all.  The  meanness  of  her  birth  was  no  obstruction  to  his 
design.  The  nuptials  were  solemnized  in  private  ;  the  prince 
declaring  to  his  courtiers^  that  virtue  was  the  surest  ladder 
to  a  throne. 

14.  We  now  see  Catharina,  raised  from  the  low,  mud- 
walled  cottage,  to  be  Empress  of  the  greatest  kingdom  upon 
earth.  The  poor,  solitary  wanderer,  is  now  surrounded  by 
thousands  who  find  happiness  in  her  smile.  She,  who  for- 
merly wanted  a  meal,  is  now  capable  of  diffusing  plent  f 
upon  whole  nations.  To  her  good  fortune  she  owed  a  p  .  * 
of  this  pre-eminence,  hut  to  her  virtues  more.  She  ever  aft 
retained  those  great  qualities  which  first  placed  her  on  a 
throne ;  and,  while  the  extraordinary  prince,  her  husband, 
labored  for  the  reformation  of  his  male  subjects,  she  studied 
in  her  turn,  the  improvement  of  her  own  sex.  She  altered 
their  dresses;  introduced  mixed  assemblies;  instituted  an 
order  of  female  knighthood  ;  promoted  piety  and  virtue  ;  and, 
at  length,  when  she  had  greatly  filled  all  the  stations  of 
empress,  friend,  wife,  and  mother,  bravely  died  without  re- 
gret— regretted  by  ail.  Goldsmith 

SECTION   II. 

Execution  of  Cranmer^  Archbishop^  of  Canterbury, 

1.  Q,u^EN  Mary  determined  to  bring  Cranmer,  whom  she 
had  long  detained  in  prison,  to  punishment;  and  in  order 
more  fully  to  satiate*^  her  vengeance,  she  resolved  to  punish 
him  for  heresy,*  rather  than  for  treason.  He  was  cited  by 
the  Pope  to  stand  his  t«ial  at  Rome ;  and  though  he  was 
known  to  be  kept  in  close  custody  at  Oxford,  he  was,  upon 
his  not  appearing,  condemned  as  contumacious.''  Bonner, 
bishop  of  London,  and  Thirleby,  bishop  of  Ely,  were  sent  to 
degrade  him ;  and  the  former  executed  the  melancholy 
ceremony,  with  all  the  joy  and  exultation  which  suited  his 
savage  nature. 

2.  The  iniplacableif  spirit  of  the  dueen,  not  satisfied  with 
the  future  misery  of  Cranmer,  which  she  believed  inevitable, 
and  with  the  execution  of  that  dreadful  sentence  to  which  -i? 
was  condemned,  prompted  her  also  to  seek  the  ruin  of  nis 

a  Vi-cis'-si-tudes,  regular  changes.         e  Ker'-e-sy,  errors  in  doctrine. 

b  Court'-iers,  attendants  on  courts.  /Con-tu-rua'-cious,  obstinate,  pey^erflft, 

e  Arch-bish'-op,  a  cnief  bishop.  g  Im-pla'-ca-ble,  not  to  be  appeased. 
d  Sa'tiate,  to  fill,  to  satisfy. 


26  NEW   P.!>?GUSH   REAi5ER.  PaRT   I. 

honor,  and  the  infamy  of  his  name.  Persona  were  employ- 
ed to  attack  him,  not  in  the  way  of  disputation,  against  which 
he  was  sufficiently  armed;  but  by  flattery,  insinuation,  and 
address  ;  by  representing  the  dignities  to  which  his  charac- 
ter still  entitled  him,  if  he  would  merit  them  by  a  recanta- 
tion ;  by  giving  him  hopes  of  long  enjoying  those  powerful 
friends,  whom  his  beneficent  disposition  had  attached  to  him 
during  the  course  of  his  pros'-erity. 

3.  Overcome  by  the  ion^  love  r'^  life  ;  terrified  by  the 
prospect  of  those  tortures  which  awaited  him ;  he  allowed, 
m  an  unguarded  hour,  the  sentiment  of  nature  to  prevail  over 
his  resolution,  and  agreed  to  subscribe  to  the  doctrines  of  the 
Dan^h  supremacy,  and  of  the  real  presence.  The  court, 
equally  perfidious  and  cruel,  was  determined  that  this  recan- 
tation should  avail  him  nof  ing:  and  sent  orders  that  he 
should  be  required  to  acknovcledge  his  errors  in  church,  be 
fore  the  whole  people;  and  that  he  should  thence  be  imme- 
diately carried  to  execution. 

4.  Cranmer,  Vv^hether  he  had  received  a  secret  intimation 
of  their  dedgn,  or  had  repented  of  his  weakness,  surprised 
the  audience  by  a  contrary  declaration.  He  said  that  he 
Avas  well  apprised*^  of  the  obedience  which  he  owed  to  his 
sovereigL  and  the  laws ;  but  that  his  duty  extended  no  far- 
ther than  to  submit  patiently  to  their  commands,  and  to  bear, 
witho* ..  resistance,  whatever  hardships  they  should  impose 
upon  him  ;  that  a  superior  duty,  the  duty  which  he  owed  to 
his  Maker,  obliged  him  to  speak  truth  on  all  occasions,  and 
not  to  relinquish,  by  a  base  denial,  the  holy  doctrine  Avhich 
the  Supreme  Being  had  revealed  to  mankind  ;  that  there 
v/as  one  miscarriage  in  his  life,  of  which  above  all  others  he 
severely  repented,  the  insincere  declaration  of  faith  to  which 
lie  had  the  weakness  to  consent,  and  w^hich  the  fear  of  death 
alone  had  extorted"^  from  him  ;  tha^he  took  this  opportunity 
of  atoning  for  his  error  by  a  sincere  and  open  recantation,** 
and  was  v.'illing  to  seal  Avith  his  blood  that  doctrine,  which 
he  firmly  believed  to  be  communicated  from  heaven ;  and 
that,  as  his  hand  had  erred  by  betraying  his  heart,  it  should 
first  be  punished  by  a  severe  and  just  doom,  and  should  first 
pay  the  forfeit  of  its  offenses. 

5.  He  was  then  led  to  the  stake,  amidst  the  insults  of  his 
enemies,  and  having  new  summoned  up  all  the  force  of  his 
mind,  he  bore  their  scorn,  as  well  as  the  torture  of  his  pun- 
ishment, with  singular  fortitude.  He  stretched  out  his  hand, 
and,  without  betraying,  either  by  his  countenance  or  motions, 
the  least  sign  of  weakness,  or  even  of  feeling,  he  held  it  in 

a  Pa'-pal,  belonging  to  tlie  Pope.  c  Ex-tort'-ed,  exacted  oppressively. 

*  Ap-pri'-sed,  iuforio^d  notified.  d  Re  cant-a'-iion,  a  retraction  of  opinioou 


Chap.  II.  narrative  pieces. 

the  liames  lili  it  was  entirely  consumed.  His  thoughts  seemed 
wholly  occupied  with  reflections  on  his  former  faults;  and 
he  called  aloud  several  times,  "this  hand  has  offended." 

6.  Satisfied  with  that  atonement,  he  then  discovered  a  se- 
renity in  his  countenance;  and  when  the  fire  attacked  his 
body,  he  seemed  to  be  quite  insensible  of  his  outward  suffer- 
ings, and  by  the  force  of  hope  and  resolution,  to  have  col- 
lected his  mind  altogether  within  itself,  and  to  repel  the  fury 
of  the  flames. — He  was  undoubtedly  a  man  of  merit,  pos- 
sessed of  learning  and  capacity,  and  adorned  with  candor, 
sincerity,  and  beneficence,*  and  all  those  virtues  which  were 
fitted  to  render  him  useful  and  amiable  in  society. — Hume, 


SECTION    III. 

Hie  Voyage  of  Life — an  Allegory J> 

1.  "  Lit  e,"  says  Seneca,  "  is  a  voyage,  in  the  progress  -* 
which  we  are  perpetually  changing  cur  scenes.  We  firs* 
leave  childhood  behind  us,  then  youth,  then  the  years  of  ri 
pened  manhood,  then  the  better,  or  more  pleasing  part  of  old 
age."  The  perusal  of  this  passage  having  excited  in  me  a 
train  of  reflections  on  the  state  of  man, — the  incessant  fluc- 
tuation*^ of  his  wishes,  the  gradual  change  of  his  disposition 
to  all  external  objects,  and  the  thoughtlessness  with  which 

'  ne  floats  along  the  stream  of  time, — I  sunk  into  a  slumber 
amidst  my  meditations,  and,  on  a  sudden,  found  my  ears  filled 
with  the  tumult  of  labor,  the  shouts  of  alacrity,''  the  shrieks 
of  alarm,  the  whistle  of  winds,  and  the  dash  of  waters 

2.  My  astonishment  for  a  time  suppressed  my  curicc^ity ; 
but  soon  recovering  myself  so  far  as  to  inquire  whither  Wc 
were  going,  and  what  was  the  cause  of  such  clamor  and  con- 
fusion, I  was  told  that  we  were  launching  out  into  the  ocean 
of  life;  that  we  had  already  passed  the  straits  of  infancy,  in 
which  multitudes  had  perished, — some  by  the  weakness  and 
fragility  of  their  vessels,  and  more  by  the  folly,  perverseness, 
or  negligence  of  those  who  undertook  to  steer  them, — and 
that  w^e  were  now  on  the  main  sea,  abandoned  to  the  winds 
and  billows,  without  any  other  means  of  security  than  the 
care  of  the  pilot,  whom  it  was  always  in  our  power  to  choose, 
■-  mong  great  numbers  that  offered  their  direction  and  asJ^ist- 

nce. 

3.  I  then  looked  around  with  anxious  eagerness ;  and,  first 

a  Be-nef-i-cence,  o:enerosity,  o^oodness.  c  Fluc-rn-a'-tion,  unsteadiness. 
^  Al'-Ie-gory,  a  figurative  manner  of   dA-lac'-ri-ty,  clieerfuiness,  livcl'i 'ss. 
speech. 


2S  NEW  ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT  1, 

turning  my  eyes  behind  me,  saw  a  stream  flowing  through 
flowery  islands,  which  every  one  that  sailed  along  seemed 
to  behold  with  pleasure ;  but  no  sooner  touched  them,  than 
the  current,  which  though  not  noisy  nor  turbulent  was  yet 
irresistible,*  bore  him  away.  Beyond  these  islands  all  was 
darkness  ;  nor  could  any  of  the  passengers  describe  the  shore 
at  which  he  first  embarked. 

4.  Before  me,  and  on  each  side,  was  an  expanse  of  waters 
violently  agitated,  and  covered  with  so  thick  a  mist,  that  the 
most  perspicacious^  eye  could  see  but  little  way.  It  appeared 
to  be  full  of  rocks  and  whirlpools;  for  many  sunk  unexpect- 
edly while  they  were  courting  the  gale  with  full  sails,  and 
insulting  those  w^hom  they  had  left  behind.  So  numerous, 
indeed,  were  the  dangers,  and  so  thick  the  darkness,  that  no 
caution  could  confer  security.  Yet  there  were  many,  who  by 
false  intelligence,  betrayed  their  followers  into  whirlpools,  or 
by  violence  pushed  those  whom  they  found  in  their  way 
against  the  rocks. 

5.  The  current  was  invariable  and  insurmountable:  but 
though  it  was  impossible  to  sail  against  it,  or  to  return  to  the 
place  that  was  once  passed,  yet  it  was  not  so  violent  as  to 
allow  no  opportunities  for  dexterity  or  courage;  since,  though 
none  could  retreat  back  from  danger,  yet  they  might  often 
avoid  it  by  oblique*^  direction. 

6.  It  was,  however,  not  very  common  to  steer  w^ith  much 
care  or  prudence ;  for,  by  some  universal  infatuation,*^  every 
man  appeared  to  think  himself  safe,  though  he  saw  his  con- 
sorts every  moment  smking  around  him ;  and  no  sooner  had 
the  waves  closed  over  them,  than  their  fate  and  their  miscon- 
duct were  forgotten ;  the  voyage  was  pursued  with  the  same 
jocund*  confidence;  every  man  congratulated  himself  upon 
the  soundness  of  his  vessel,  and  believed  himself  able  to  stem 
the  whirlpool  in  w^hich  his  friend  was  swallowed,  or  glide 
over  the  rocks  on  w^hich  he  was  dashed ;  nor  was  it  often  ob- 
served that  the  sight  of  a  wreck  made  any  man  change  his 
course.  If  he  turned  aside  for  a  moment,  he  soon  forgot  the 
rudder, f  and  left  himself  again  to  the  disposal  of  chance. 

7.  This  negligence  did  not  proceed  from  indifference,  or 
from  weariness  of  their  present  condition;  foi  not  one  of 
those  who  thus  rushed  upon  destruction,  failed,  when  he  was 
sinking,  to  call  loudly  upon  his  associates  for  that  help  which 
could  not  now  be  given  him ;  and  many  spent  their  last  mo- 
ments in  cautioning  others  against  the  folly,  by  which  they 

a  Tr-re-sisl'-i-ble,  not  to  be  resisted.  c  Joc'-und,  merry,  gay. 

b  Per-spi-ca'-cious,  quick  sighted.  /Rud'-der,  the  instrument  by  which 

e  Ob-lique',  deviating:  from  a  right  line.  a  ship  is  steered. 

d  In-fat-u-a'-tion,  ditprivation  of  reason. 


Chap.  II.  narrative  pieces.  29 

were  intercepted*  in  the  midst  of  their  course.  Their  be- 
nevolence was  sometimes  praised,  but  their  admonitions^ 
were  unregarded. 

8.  The  vessels  in  which  we  were  embarked,  being  confess- 
edly unequal  to  the  turbulence  of  the  stream  of  life,  were 
visibly  impaired  in  the  course  of  the  voyage ;  so  that  every 
passenger  was  certain,  that  how  long  soever  he  might,  by 
favorable  accidents,  or  by  incessant  vigilance,  be  preserved, 
he  must  sink  at  last. 

9.  This  necessity  of  perishing  might  have  been  expected 
to  sadden  the  gay,  and  to  intimidate'^  the  daring;  at  least  to 
keep  the  melancholy  and  timorous  in  perpetual  torment,  and 
hinder  them  from  any  enjoyment  of  the  varieties  and  grati- 
fications which  nature  offered  them  as  the  solace  of  their 
labors ;  yet,  in  effect,  none  seemed  less  to  expect  destruction 
than  those  to  whom  it  was  most  dreadful :  they  all  had  the 
art  of  concealing  their  danger  from  themselves ;  and  those 
who  knew  their  inability  to  bear  the  sight  of  terrors  that  em- 
barrassed their  way,  took  care  never  to  look  forward  ;  but 
found  some  amusement  of  the  present  moment,  and  general- 
ly entertained  themselves  by  playing  wdth  Hope,  who  was 
Uie  constant  associate  of  the  Voyage  of  Life. 

10.  Yet  all  that  Hope  ventured  to  promise,  even  to  those 
w^hom  she  favored  most,  w^as,  not  that  they  should  escape, 
but  that  they  should  sink  last  j  and  with  this  promise  every 
one  was  satisfied,  though  he  laughed  at  the  rest  for  seeming 
to  believe  it.  Hope,  indeed,  apparently  mocked  the  credu- 
lity^ of  her  companions  ;  for,  in  proportion  as  their  vessels 
grew  leaky,  she  redouble8#her  assurances  of  safety;  and  ■ 
none  were  more  busy  in  making  provisions  for  a  long  voyage, 
than  they  whom  all  but  themselves  saw  likely  to  perish  soon 
by  irreparable  decay. 

11.  In  the  midst  of  the  current  of  Life,  was  the  gulf  of 
Intemperance,  a  dreadful  whirlpool,  interspersed"  with  rocks, 
of  which  the  pointed  crags  were  concealed  under  water,  and 
the  tops  covered  with  herbage,  on  which  Ease  spread  couches 
of  repose,  and  with  shades,  where  Pleasure  warbled  the  song 
of  invitation.  Within  sight  of  these  rocks,  all  who  sailed 
on  the  ocean  of  Life  must  necessarily  pass. 

12.  Reason,  indeed,  was  always  at  hand,  to  steer  the  pas- 
sengers through  a  narrow  outlet,  by  which  they  might  escape ;  - 
but  very  few  could,  by  her  entreaties  or  remonstrances,^  be 
induced  to  put  the  riidder  into  her  hand,  without  stipulating 
that  she  should  approach  so  near  the  rocks  of  Pleasure,  that 

a  In-ter-cep'-tcd,  stopt  in  its  passage.  e  In-ter-spers'-ed,  scattered  arnon-:?. 

b  Ad-rno-ni'"-tJonSj  gentle  reproofs,  /lleuion'-stran-ces,  stroug  reprcsea 
c  In-iirn'-i-date,  to  Iriuhten.  tations  against. 

if  Cro-du'-ii-ty,  easiness  of  belieC 


so  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  ?ART   I. 

they  might  solace^  themselves  with  a  short  ^enji^yment  of 
that  delicious  region:  after  which  they  always  determined 
to  pursue  their  course  without  any  deviation. 

33.  Reasun  was  too  often  prevailed  upon  so  far  by  these 
promises,  as  to  venture  her  charge  within  the  eddy  of  the 
gulf  of  Intemperance,  v/here  indeed  the  circumvolution^ 
was  weak,  but  yet  interrupted  the  course  of  the  vessel,  and 
drew  it  by  insensible  rotations  toward  the  center.  She  then 
repented  her  temerity,*^  and  with  all  her  force  endeavored  to 
retreat ;  but  the  draught  of  the  gulf  was  generally  too  strong 
to  be  overcome ;  and  the  passenger,  having  danced  in  circles 
with  a  pleasing  and  giddy  velocity,  was  at  last  overwhelmed 
and  lost. 

14.  Those  few  whom  Reason  was  able  to  extricate,*^  gen- 
erally suffered  so  many  shocks  upon  the  points  which  shot 
out  from  the  rocks  of  Pleasure,  that  they  were  unable  to  con- 
tinue their  course  with  the  same  strength  and  facility  as  be- 
fore, but  floated  along,  timorously  and  ieebly,  endangered  by 
every  breeze,  and  shattered  by  every  ruffle  of  the  water,  till 
they  sunk,  by  slow  degrees,  after  long  struggles  and  innu- 
merable expedients,^  always  repining  at  their  own  folly,  and 
warning  others  against  the  first  approach  toward  the  gulf  of 
Intemperance. 

15.  There  were  artists  who  professed  to  repair  the  breaches, 
and  stop  the  leaks,  of  the  vessels  which  had  been  shattered 
on  the  rocks  of  Pleasure.  Many  appeared  to  have  great 
skill ;  and  some,  indeed,  were  preserved  by  it  from  sinking, 
who  had  received  only  a  single  blow;  but  I  remarked  that 
few  vessels  lasted  long  which  ii^d  been  much  repaired  ;  nor 
was  it  found  that  the  artists  themselves  continued  afloat, 
longer  than  those  who  had  least  of  their  assistance. 

16.  The  only  advantage  which,  in  the  voyage  of  Life,  the 
cautious  had  above  the  negligent,  was,  that  they  sunk  later, 
and  more  suddenly ;  for  they  passed  forward  till  they  had 
sometimes  seen  all  those  in  v/hose  company  they  had  issued 
from  the  straits  of  Infancy,  perish  in  the  way  ;  and  at  last 
were  overset  by  a  cross  breeze,  without  the  toil  ot  resi :«ance, 
or  the  anguish  of  expectation.  But  such  as  had  often  fallen 
against  the  rocks  of  Pleasure,  commonly  subsided  by  sensible 
degrees  ;  contended  long  with  the^  encroaching  waters  ;  and 
harassed  themselves  by  labors  that  scarcely  Hope  hers^k 
could  flatter  with  success. 

17.  As  I  was  looking  upon  the  various  fates  of  the  multi- 
tude about  me,  I  was  suddenly  alarmed  \yith  an  admoniticn 

a  Sol'-ace,  to. comfort.  d  Ex'-tri-cate,  to  set  free. 

b  Cir-cum-vo-lu'-tion,  turning  round.         c  Ex-pe'-di-ems,  iueans  to  an  end. 

^  Te  mer'-i-ty,  rash  boiune^u 


Chap.  II.  narrative  pieces.  31 

from  some  unknown  power:  *'Gaze  not  idly  upon  others, 
when  thou  thyself  art  sinkinjj:.  Whence  is  this  thoughtless 
tranquillity,  when  thou  and  they  are  equally  endan^^ered  ?" 
I  looked,  and  seeing  the  gulf  "of  Intemperance  hefore  me, 
started  and  awaked.  Dr.  Johnson 


SECTION   IV. 

Death  of  Socrates. 

1.  Socrates,  the  famous  Greek  philosopher,*  was  born  at 
Athens,  about  451  years  before  Christ.  He  gave  early  proofs; 
of  his  valor  in  the  service  of  his  country,  but  chiefly  applied 
hi.iiseif  to  the  study  of  philosophy ;  and  was  a  person  of 
irresistible  eloquence,  and  accomplished  virtue.  His  distin- 
guishing characteristic  was  a  perfect  tranquillity  of  mind, 
which  enabled  him  to  support,  with  patience,  the  most 
troublesome  accidents  of  life. 

2.  He  used  to  beg  of  those  with  whom  he  usually  conver- 
sed, to  put  him  on  his  guard,  the  moment  they  perceived  in 
him  the  first  emotions  of  anger;  and  when  they  did  so,  he 
instantly  resumed  perfect  composure  and  complacency.^ 
His  Avife,  Xantippe,  a  woman  of  the  most  whimsical  and 
provokins:  temper,  afforded  him  sufficient  opportunity  of  ex- 
ercising his  patience,  by  the  revilings  and  abuse  with  Avhich 
she  was  constantly  loading  him. 

3.  Socrates  possessed,  in  a  superior  degree,  the  talent  of 
reasoning.  His  principal  employn^'^nt  was  the  instruction 
of  youth — an  object  to  which  he  dhocted  all  his  care  and 
attention.  He  kept,  however,  no  fixed  public  school,  but 
took  every  opportunity,  witliout  regarding  times  or  places, 
of  conveying  to  them  his  precepts,  and  that  in  the  most  en- 
ticing and  agreeable  manner.  His  lessons  were  so  univer- 
sally relished,  that  the  moment  he  appeared,  whether  in  the 
public  assemblies,  walks,  or  feasts,  he  was  surrounded  with 
a  throng  of  the  most  illustriousc  scholars  and  hearers.  The 
young  Athenians  quitted  even  their  pleasures,  to  listen  to  the 
discourse  of  Socrates. 

4.  He  greatly  exerted  himself  agninst  the  power  of  the 
thirty  tyrants,  and  in  the  behalf  of  Theramenes,''  whom 
they  had  condemned  to  death  ;  insomuch,  that  they  became 
so  much  alarmed  a-t  his  behavior,  that  they  forbade  him  to 
instruct  the  Athenian  youth.  Soon  after,  an  accusation  was 
formally  exhibited  against  him  by  Melitus,  containing  in 

a  Phi-los'-o  pher,  one  skilled  in  tlie  sci-    cTMus'-tri-ous,  eminent  conspiciious. 
ence  of  nature.  d  Tlic-rain'-e-ncs,  an  Athenian  gene» 

b  Com-pia'-cen-cyj  .satisractioiv  ->fminc*^       rai. 


%  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   1, 

substance,  "  That  he  did  not  acknowledge  the  gods  of  the 
republic,  but  introduced  new  deities  in  their  room;''  and  fur- 
ther, "  that  he  corrupted  the  youth."  He  urged,  in  his  de- 
fense, that  he  had  assisted,  as  others  had,  at  the  sacrifices 
and  solemn  festivals.* 

5.  He  denied  his  endeavoring  to  establish  any  new  wor- 
ship. He  owned,  indeed,  that  he  had  received  frequent  ad- 
monitions from  a  divine  voice,  which  he  called  his  genius, 
that  constantly  attended  him,  and  discovered  to  him  future 
events, — that  he  had  often  made  use  of  this  divine  assistance 
for  the  service  of  himself  and  his  friends, — but,  that  if  he 
had  been  thus  particularly  favored  by  Heaven,  it  was  owing 
chiefly  to  the  regularity  of  his  life  and  conduct ;  and  that  the 
approbation  of  the  Supreme  Being,  which  was  given  him  as 
a  reward  for  his  virtue,  ought  not  to  be  objected  to  him  as 
his  crime. 

6.  Then,  as  to  the  other  article,  wherein  he  was  accused 
of  corrupting  the  youth,  and  teaching  them  to  despise  the 
settled  laws  and  order  of  the  commonwealth,  he  said  he  had 
no  other  view  in  his  conversation  with  them  than'  to  regu- 
late their  morals, — that  as  he  could  not  do  this  with  any 
public  authority,  he  was  therefore  forced  to  insinuate^  him- 
self into  their  company,  and  to  use,  in  a  manner,  the  same 
methods  to  reclaim,  which  others  did  to  corrupt  them. 

7.  How  far  the  whole  charge  affected  him,  it  is  not  easy  to 
determine.  It  is  certain,  that  amidst  so  much  zeal  and  super- 
stition as  then  reigned  in  Athens,  he  never  dare  openly  op- 
pose the  received  religion,  and  was  therefore  obliged  to  pre- 
serve an  outward  show  of  it.  But  it  is  very  probable,  from 
the  discourses  he  frequently  held  with  his  friends,  that,  in 
his  heart,  he  despised  and  laughed  at  their  monstrous  opin- 
ions and  ridiculous  mysteries,  as  having  no  other  founda- 
tion than  the  fables^  of  the  poets ;  and  that  he  had  attained 
to  a  notion  of  the  one  only  true  God,  insomuch,  that  upon 
the  account  of  his  belief  of  the  Deity,  and  his  exemplary** 
life,  some  have  thought  fit  to  rank  him  with  Christian  phi- 
losophers. 

8.  And  indeed  his  behavior  upon  his  trial  was  more  like 
that  of  a  Christian  martyr^  than  an  impious  pagan, ^ — where 
he  appeared  with  such  a  composed  confidence,  as  naturally 
results  from  innocence  j  and  ratlier,  as  Cicero'  observes,  as 
it'  he  were  to  determine  upon  his  judges,  than  to  supplicate 
them  as  a  criminal. — But  how  slight  soever  the  proofs  were 

a  Fes'-ti-vals,  feasts.  e  Mar'-tyr,  one  who  is  put  to  death  for 

b  In-sin'-u-afe,  to  wind  in,  to  hint.  the  truth. 

c  Fa'-bJes.  instructive  fictions.  /Pa'-gan,  an  idolater. 

d  Ex-eui'-pla-ry,  wortliy  ol"  imitation,  g  Cic'-e-ro,  a  Roman  orator. 


Chap.  II.  narrativb  pieces.  33 

against  him,  the  faction*  was  powerful  enough  to  find  him 
guilty. 

9.  It  was  a  privilege,  however,  granted  him,  to  demand  a 
mitigation^  of  punishment, — to  change  the  condemnation  of 
death  into  banishment,c  imprisanment  or  a  fine.  But  he 
replied,  generously,  that  he  would  choose  neither  of  those 
punishments,  because  that  would  be  to  acknowledge  himself 
guilty.  This  answer  so  incensed  his  judges,  that  they  de- 
termined he  should  drink  the  hemlock,d  a  punishment  at  that 
time  much  in  use  among  them. 

10.  Thirty  days  were  allowed  him  to  prepare  to  die  ;  du- 
ring Avhich  time  he  conversed  with  his  friends  with  the  same 
evenness  and  serenity  of  mind  he  had  ever  done  before.  And 
though  they  had  bribed  the  jailer  for  his  escape,  he  refused 
it,  as  an  ungenerous  violation  of  the  lav/s.  He  was  about 
seventy  years  old  when  he  suffered;  which  made  him  say, 
he  thought  himself  happy  to  quit  life,  at  a  time  when  it  be- 
gan to  be  troublesome ;  and  that  his  death  was  rather  a  de- 
liverance than  a  punishment. 

11.  Cicero  has  described,  with  great  eloquence,  the  lofty 
sentiments  and  magnanimous^  behavior  of  Socrates. — While 
he  held  the  fatal  cup  in  his  hand,  he  declared  that  he  con- 
sidered death,  not  as  a  punishment  inflicted  on  him,  but  as 
a  help  furnished  him,  of  arriving  so  much  sooner  at  heaven. 

12.  His  children  being  brought  before  him,  he  spoke  to 
them  a  little,  and  then  desired  them  to  be  taken  away.  The 
hour  appointed  for  drinking  the  hemlock  being  come,  they 
brought  him  the  cup,  which  he  received  without  any  emo- 
tion, and  then  addressed  a  prayer  to  heaven.  It  is  highly 
reasonable,  said  he,  to  offer  my  prayers  to  the  Supreme  Being 
on  this  occasion,  and  to  beseech  him  to  render  my  departure 
from  earth,  and  my  last  journey,  happy.  Then  he  drank  oil 
the  poison  with  amazing  tranquillity. 

13.  Observing  his  friends  in  this  fatal  moment  weeping 
and  dissolved  in  tears,  he  reproved  them  with  great  mildness, 
asking  them  whether  their  virtue  had  deserted  iheni;  "for,'' 
added  he,  "I  have  always  heard  that  it  is  our  duty  calmly  to 
resign  our  breath,  giving  thanks  to  Godrf*'  After  wail^ang 
about  a  little  while,  perceiving  the  poison  beginning  to  v/ork, 
he  lay  down  on  his  couch,  and,  in  a  few'momeDts  after, 
breathed  his  last.  Cicero  declares,  that  he  could  never  read 
the  account  of  the  death  of  Socrates  without  shedding  tears. 

14.  Soon  after  his  death,  the  Athenians  were  convinced  of 
his  innocence,  and  considered  all  the  misfortunes  which  after- 

a  Fac'-tion,  p.  political  parfy.  (/  Ilem'-lock,  a,  poisonous  wcod. 

b  Mit-i-ga'-tion,  alleviation.  e  Mag-naii'-i-mous,  great  in  mind. 

c  Ban  -ish-inont,  expai^iion   from  one's 
own  counuy. 

3  • 


34  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    I. 

ward  befell  the  republic,  as  a  punishment  for  the  injustice  of 
his  sentence.  When  the  academy,  and  the  other  places  of 
the  city  where  he  taught,  presented  themselves  to  the  view 
of  his  countrymen,  they  could  not  refra^jn  from  reflecting  on 
the  reward  bestov/ed  by  them,  on  one  ivho  had  done  them 
.  such  important  services.  They  canceled*  the  decree  which 
had  condemned  him, — put  Melitus  to  death, — banished  his 
other  accusers, — and  erected  to  his  memory  a  statue^  of 
brass,  which  was  executed  by  the  famous  Lysippus. 


SECTION    V. 

Interesting  account  of  William,  Penrc's  treaty  with  the  In- 
dians^ l^revious  to  his  settling  in  Pennsylvania. 

J.  The  country  assigned  to  him  by  the  royal  charter,*'  was 
yet  full  of  its  original  inhabitants ;  and  the  principles  of  Wil- 
liam Penn  did  not  allow  him  to  look  upon  that  gift,  as  a  war- 
rant to  dispossess  the  first  proprietors  of  the  land.  He  had 
accordingly  appointed  his  commissioners,  the  preceding  year, 
to  treat  with  them  for  the  fair  purchase  of  a  part  of  their 
lands,  and  for  their  joint  possession  of  the  remainder;  and 
the  term^s  of  the  settlement  being  now  nearly  agreed  upon, 
he  proceeded,  very  soon  after  his  arrival,  to  conclude  the  set- 
tlement, and  solemnly  to  pledge  his  faith,  and  to  ratify  and 
confirm  the  treaty,  in  sight  both  of  the  Indians  and  planters. 

2.  For  this  purpose  a  grand  convocation'^  of  the  tribes  had 
been  appointed,  near  the  spot  where  Philadelphia  now  stands ; 
and  it  was  agreed,  that  he  and  the  presiding  Sachems^  should 
meet  and  exchange  iaith,  under  the  spreading  branches  of  a 
prodigious  elm-tree  that  grew  on  the  bank  of  the  river.  On 
the  day  appointed,  accordingly,  an  innumerable  multitude  of 
the  Indians  assembled  in  that  neighborhood,  and  w^ere  seen, 
with  their  dark  visages^  and  brandished «  arms,  moving,  in 
vast  sw^arm3,Jn  the  depths  of  the  w^oods  which  then  over- 
shaded  the  Avhole  of  that  now  cultivated  region. 

3.  On  the  other  hand,  William  Penn,  with  a  moderate  at- 
tendance of  friends,  advanced  to  meet  them.  He  came  of 
course  unarmed, — in  his  usual  plain  dress, — without  banners, 
or  mace,  or  guard,  or  carriages;  and  only  distin-^uished  from 
his  companions  by  wearing  a  blue  sash  of  silk  net  v;ork, 
(which  it  seems  is  still  preserved  by  Mr.  Kett,  of  Seething- 
hall,  near  Norwich,)  and  by  having  in  his  hand  a  roll  of 

a  Can'-ccl-ftd,  obliterated,  annulled.  e  Sa'-chems,  chiefs  of  Indian  tribes. 

*  Srat-ue,  an  iina-ie.  /Vii>'-a-«ies,  faces,  countenances. 

c  Chart'-er,  a  dee'd,  a  grant.  g  Brand'-ish-ed,  raised  and  reared  in 
ii  Con-vo-ca'-tioDj  an  assembly.  the  air. 


Chap.  II.  narrative    pieces.  35 

parchment,*  on  which  was  engrossed''  the  confirmation  of 
the  treaty  of  parcliase  and  amity. *^ 

4.  As  soon  as  he  drew  near  the  spot  where  the  Sachems 
were  assembled,  the  whole  multitude  of  Indians  threw  down 
their  weapons,  and  seated  themselves  on  the  ground  in' 
groups,  each  under  his  own  chieftain ;  and  the  presiding 
chief  intimated  to  William  Pcnn,  that  tlie  nations  Avere  ready 
to  hear  him.  Having  been  thus  called  upon,  he  began: 
"  The  great  Spirit,"  he  said,  "who  made  him  and  them,  Avho 
ruled  the  heaven  and  th<!  earth,  and  who  knew  the  innermost 
thoughts  of  man,  knew  that  he  and  his  friends  had  a  hearty 
desire  to  live  in  peace  and  friendship  with  them,  and  to* 
serve  them  to  the  utmost  of  their  pov/er. 

5.  "it  was  not  their  custom  to  use  hostile  weapons  against 
their  fell|?w  creatures:  for  which  reason  they  had  come  un- 
armed. Their  object  was  not  to  do  injury,  and  thus  provoke . 
the  Great  Spirit,  but  to  do  good.  They  were  then  met  on 
the  broad  pathway  of  good  faith  and  good  will;  so  that  no 
advantage  was  to  be  taken  on  either  side,  but  all  was  to  be 
openness,  brotherhood  and  love." 

6.  After  these  and  other  words,  he  unrolled  the  parchment, 
and,  by  means  of  the  same  interpreter,^  conveyed  to  them, 
article  by  article,  the  conditions  of  the  purchase,  and  the 
Vvxrds  of  the  compact  then  made  for  their  eternal  union,  • 
Among  other  things,  they  were  not  to  be  molested  in  t'neir' 
lawful  pursuits,  even  in  the  territory  they  had  alienated ;« 
for  it  was  to  be  common  to  them  and  the  English. 

7.  They  were  to  have  the  same  liberty  to  do  ail  things 
therein,  relating  to  the  improvement  of  their  grounds,  and 

J  the  providing  of  sustenance  for  their  families,  which  the 
English  had.  If  any  disputes  should  arise  between  the  two, 
they  should  be  settled  by  twelve  persons,  halfof  v/hom  should 
be  Engli-h  and  half  Indians.  He  then  paid  them  for  the 
land,  and  made  them  many  presents  besides,  from  the  mer 
chandise  that  had  been  spread  before  them.  Having  done 
y  this,  he  laid  the  roll  of  parchment  on  the  ground,  observing 
again,  that  the  ground  should  be  common  to  both  people. 

S.  He  then  added,  he  would  not  do  as  the  Marylanders 
did,  tiiat  is.  call  them  Children  or  Brothers  only:  for  often 
}^-arents  were  ppt  to  whip  their  children  too  se'verely,  and 
brothers  sornetimes  Vvould  differ;  neither  would  he  conipare 
the  friendship  between  him  and  them  to  a  chain,  for  the  rain 
might  somerimes  rust  it,  o;-  a  tree  might  flill  and  break  it; 
but  he  should  consider  them  as  the  same  flesh  and  blood 

a  Parch'-ment,  skins  dressed  for  wri-  c  Am'-i-ty,  ajrreernent,  friendship . 

ting  on.  »  d  In-tei-'-prot-er,  one  who  exponnds. 

b  En-gross  -ed,  Avritten  in  large  letters,  e  A'-lien-a-ted,  estranged,  transferred. 


36 

with  the  Christians,  and  the  same  as  if  one  man's  body  were 
to  be  divided  into  two  parts.  He  then  took  up  the  parch- 
ment, and  presented  it  to  the  Sachem  who  wore  the  horn  in 
the  chaplet,*^  and  desired  him  and  the  other  Sachems  to  pre- 
s'^rve  it  carefully  for  three  generations,  that  their  chihlren 
might  know  what  had  passed  between  ihem,  just  as  if  ha 
haiiself  had  remained  with  them  to  repeat  it. 

9.  -The  Indians,  in  return,  made  long  and  stately  ha- 
rangues :^  of  which,  however,  no  moi'e  seems  to  have  been 
ri^memhered  but  that  "they  pledged  themselves  to  live  in 
love  with  William  Ponn  and  his  children,  as  long  as  the  sun 
and  tnoon  should  endure."  And  thus  ended  this  famous 
treaty  : — of  which  Voltaire  has  remarked,  with  so  inuch  truth 
and  severity,  that  "  it  was  the  only  one  €ver  conclui'fed  be-* 
tween  savages  and  Christians  that  was  not.rati£eJr  by  an 
oath, — and  the  only  one  that  never  was  broken." 

10.  Such,  indeed,  \vas  the  spirit  in  which  the  negotiation'^ 
was  entered  into,  and  the  corresponding  settlement  conduct- 
ed, that,  for  the  space  of  more  than  seventy  years,  and  so 
long  indeed  as  the  (Quakers  retained  the  chief  power  in  the 
government,  the  peace  and  amity  which  had  been  thus  so- 
lemnly promised  and  concluded,  never  was  violated  ;  and  a 
great  and  most  striking,  though  solitary  example  afforded, 
of  the  facility  with  which  they  who  are  really  sincere  and 
friendly  in' their  own  views,  may  live  in  harmony,  even  .with 
those  who  are  supposed  to  be  peculiarly  fierce  and  faithless. 

Edinburgh  Review. 

SECTION    VI. 

Religion  and  Superstition  contrasted.^ 

1.  I  HAD  lately  a  verv  remarkable  dream,  which  made  so 
strong  an  impression  upon  me,  that  I  remember  every  word 
of  it ;  and  if  you  are  not  better  employed,  you  may  read  the 
relation  of  it  as  follows  ; — I  thought  1  was  in  the  midst  of  a 
very  entei'taining  set  of  company,  and  extremely  delighted 
in  attending  to  a  lively  conversation,  when,  on  a  sudden,  I 
perceived  one  of  the  most  shocking  figures  that  imagination 
can  frariie,  advancing  toward  me. 

2.  Ph.'  v/as  dressed  in  black,  her  skin  was  contracted  into 
a  tiiou  11:'^  v^rinkles,  her  eyes  deep  sunk  in  her  head,  and 
her  com})lexion  pale  and  livid^  as  the  countenance  of  death. 
Her  looks  were  filled  v/ith  terror  and  unrelentings  severity, 

a  Chap'-lot,  a  gfirland,  astrinir  of  beads,  e  Con-tras'-ied,  placed  in  opposilion. 

b  IJar-uvisrwes',  noisy  fjpeechcs.  /Liv'-id,  di>;colored  I»y  a  bruise. 

c  Uat'-i-rl-ed,  confirmed.  g  Un-re-lent'-ing,  iQQViwg  no  pity. 
d  Ne-go-ii-a'-tion,  treaty  of  business. 


Chap.  II.  narrative  pieces. 

and  her  hands  armed  with  whips  and  scorpions.*  As  soon 
as  she  came  near,  with  a  horrid  frown,  and  a  voice  that  chill- 
ed my  very  blood,  she  bade  me  follow  her.  I  obeyed  ;  and 
she  led  me  through  rugged  paths,  beset  with  briers  and 
thorns,  into  a  deep,  solitary  valley. 

3.  Wherever  she  passed,  tiie  fading  verdure  withered  be- 
neath her  steps  ;  her  pestilential^  breath  infected  the  air  with 
malignant  vapors — obscured  the  luster  of  the  sun,  and  in- 
volved the  fair  face  of  heaven  in  universal  gloom.  Dismal 
hov/lings  resounded  through  the  forest :  from  every  baleful 
tree  the  night-raven  uttered  his  dreadful  note  ;  and  the  pros- 
pect was  filled  with  desolation  and  horror.  In  the  midst  of 
this  tremendous  scene,  my  execrable  guide^  addressed  me 
in  the  following  manner: 

4.  "Retire  with  me,  O  rash,  unthinking  mortal!  from  the 
vain  allurements  of  a  deceitful  world  ;  and  learn  that  plea- 
sure was  not  designed  as  the  portion  of  human  life.  Man 
was  born  to  mourn  and  to  be  wretched.  This  is  the  cond 
tion  of  all  below  the  stars  ;  and  whoever  endeavors  to  oppose 
it,  acts  in  contradiction  to  the  will  of  heaven.  Fly,  then, 
ftoin  the  enchantments  of  youth  and  social  delight,  and-here 
consecrate  thy  solitary  hours  to  lamentation  and  wo.  Misery 
is  the  duty  of  ail  sublunary^  beings  ;  and  every  enjoymen 
is  an  oilense.  to  the  Deity,  who  is  to  be  worshiped  only  by 
tije  mortification  of  every  sense  of  pleasure,  and  the  ever 
lastiuiT  exercise  of  sighs  and  tears." 

5.  This  melancholy  picture  of  life  quite  sunk  my  spirits 
and  seemed  to  annihilate*'  every  principle  of  joy  within  me 
I  threw  myself  beneath  a  blasted  yew,  where  the  winds  blew 
cold  and  dismal  around  my  head,  and  dreadful  apprehensions 
chilled  my  heart.  Here  I  resolved  to  lie  till  the  hand  of 
death,  which  I  impatiently  invoked,^  should  put  an  end  to 
t!ie  miseries  of  a  life  so  deplorably  wretched.  In  this  sad 
situation,  I  espied  on  one  hand  of  me  a  deep  muddy  river 
who<e  heavy  waves  rolled  on,  in  slow,  sullen  murmurs. 

6.  Here  I  determined  to  plunge  ;  and  was  just  upon  Ine 
brink,  when  I  found  myself  suddenly  drawn  back.  1  turned 
about,  and  was  surprised  by  the  sight  of  the  loveliest  objec' 
I  had  ever  beheld.  The  most  engaging  charms  of  youth 
and  beauty,  appeared  in  all  her  form  ;  effulgent  glories  spar 
kled  in  her  eyes,  and  their  awful  splendors  were  softened 
by  the  gentlest  looks  of  compassion  and  peace. 

7.  At  her  approach,  the  frightful  specter,^  who  had  before 

fl  Scor'-pi-oas,  reptiles  having  venom- ctPub'-lii-na-ry,  earthly,  being  under 

ous  stings.  tlie  moon. 

b  Pesi-i-lei'-tial,  containing  contagion,    c  An-ni'-hi-late,  to  reduce  to  nothing 
c  Ex'-e-cra-ble,  deserving  to  be  cursed./ In-vo'-ked,  addressed  in  prayer. 

g  Spec'-ter,  an  apparition,  a  ^host. 


3S  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    I. 

tormented  me,  vanished  away,  and  with  her  all  the  horrors 
she  had  caused.  The  gloomy  clouds  brightened  into  cheer- 
ful sunshine,  the  groves  recovered  their  verdure,  and  the 
whole  region  looked  gay  and  blooming  as  the  garden  of 
Eden.  I  was  quite  transported  at  this  unexpected  change, 
and  reviving  pleasure  began  to  gladden  my  thoughts,  when, 
v/ith  a  look  of  inexpressible  sweetness,  my  beauteous  deliv- 
erer thus  uttered  her  divine  instructions: 

8.  "My  name  is  Religion.  lam  the  offspring  of  Truth 
and  Love,  and  the  parent  of  Benevolence,  Hope,  and  Joy.— 
That  monster,  from  whose  power  I  have  freed  you,  is  called 
Superstition  ;  she  is  the  child  of  Discontent,  and  her  follow- 
ers are  Fear  and  Sorrow.  Thus,  dilTerent  as  we  are,  she 
has  often  the  insolence  to  assume  my  name  and  character; 
and  seduces  unhappy  mortals  to  think  us  the  samft,  till  she 
at  length  drives  them  to  the  borders  of  Despair — that  dread- 
ful abyss*"  into  which  you  were  just  going  to  sink. 

9.  "Look  around  and  survey  the  various  beauties  of  the 
globe,  which  heaven  has  destined  for  the  seat  of  the  human 
race,  and  consider  whether  a  world  thus  exquisitely''  framed, 
could  be  intended  for  the  abode  of  misery  and  pain.  For 
what  end  has  the  lavish  hand  of  Providence  diffused  innu- 
merable objects  of  delight,  but  that  all  might  rejoice  in  the 
privilege  of  existence,  and  be  filled  with  gratitude  to  the  be- 
neficent Author  of  it. 

10.  "  Thus  to  enjoy  the  blessings  he  has  sent,  is  virtue  and 
obedience;  and  to  reject  them  merely  as  means  of  pleasure, 

s  pitiable  ignorance,  or  absurd  perverseness.*^  Infinite  good- 
ness is  the  source  of  created  existence.  The  proper  tenden- 
cy of  every  rational  being,  from  the  highest  order  of  r^iptured 
seraphs'^  to  the  meanest  rank  of  men,  is,  to  rise  incessantly 
from  lower  degrees  of  happiness  to  higher.  They  have  fa 
culties  assigned  them  for  various  orders  of  delights." 

11.  "  What!"  cried  I,  "is  this  the  language  of  Religion  ? 
Does  she  lead  her  votaries^  through  flowery  paths,  and  bid 

hem  pass  an  unlaborious  life  ?  Where  are  the  painful  toils 
of  virtue,  the  mortifications  of  penitents,  and  the  self-denying 
exercises  of  saints  and  heroes  ?" 

12.  "  The  true  enjoyments  of  a  reasonable  being,"  an- 
swered she,  mildly,  "do  not  consist  in  unbounded  indulgence, 
or  luxurious^  ease, — in  the  tumult  of  passions,  the  languor  of 
mdulgence,  or  the  flutter  of  light  amusements.  Yielding  to 
immoral  pleasures  corrupts  the  mind;  living  to  animal  and 

a  A-byss',  a  deep  pit.  d  Ser'aphs,  angels  of  the  highest  order. 

6  Ex'-qui.s-itely,  nicely,  completely.  c  Vo'-ta-hes,  persons  devoted  by  vow 
c  Per-verse'-ness,  crossnees,  untracta-        to  any  service. 

bleness.  yLux-u'-ri-ous,  voluptuous,  softening. 


Chap.  II.  narrative  pieces.  39 

trifling  ones  debases  it :  both  in  their  degree,  disqualify  it  for 
its  genuine  good,  and  consign  it  over  to  wretchedness. 
Whoever  would  be  really  happy, must  make  the  diligent  and 
regular  exercise  of  his  superior  powers  his  chief  attention, — 
adoring  the  perfections  of  his  Maker,  expressing  ^ood  will 
to  his  fellow-creatures,  and  cultivating  inward  rectitude.* 

13.  "  To  his  corporeal^  faculties  he  must  allow  such  grati- 
fications, as  will,  by  refreshing,  invigorate  him  for  nobler 
pursuits.  In  the  regions  inhabited  by  angelic  naiv^res,  un- 
mingled  felicity  forever  blooms  ;  joy  flov.^s  there  with  a  per- 
petual and  abundant  stream,  nor  needs  any  mound  to  check 
its  coarse.  Beings,  conscious  of  a  frame  of  mind  originally 
diseased,  as  all  the  htiman  race  have  cause  to  be,  must  use 
the  regimen*^  of  a  stricter  self-government. 

14.  "Whoever has  been  guilty  of  voluntary  excesses, must 
patiently  submit,  both  to  the  painful  workings  of  nature,  and 
needful  fieverities  of  medicine,  in  order  to  his  cure.  Still  he 
is  entitlel  to  a  moderate  share,  of  whatever  alleviating'^  ac- 
commoda.ions  this  fair  mansion  of  his  merciful  Parent  af- 
fords, consistent  with  his  recovery.  And,  in  proportion  as 
this  recovery  advances,  the  liveliest  joy  v/ill  spring  from  his 
secret  sense  of  an  amended  and  improved  heart. — So  far 
from  the  horrors  of  despair  is  the  condition  even  of  the 
guilty. — Shudder,  poor  mortal,  at  the  thought  of  the  gulf  into 
which  thou  vast  just  now  going  to  plunge. 

15.  "While  the  most  faulty  have  every  encouragement  to 
amend,  the  move  innocent  soul  will  be  supported  with  still 
sweeter  consolations  luider  all  its  experience  of  human  infir- 
mities— supported  by  the  gladdening  assurances,  that  every 
sincere  endeavor  to  outgrow  them,  shall  be  assisted,  accept- 
ed, and  rewarded.  To  such  a  one,  the  loAvest  self-abasement 
is  but  a  deep-hid  foundation  for  the  most  elevated  Ropes  ; 
since  they  who  faithfully  examine  and  acknowledge  what 
they  are,  shall  be  enabled,  under  my  conduct,  to  becoiTie 
what  ihev  desire. 

16.  "  The  Christian  and  the  hero  are  inseparable ;  and  to 
the  aspirings  of  unassuming  trust  and  filial^  confidence,  are 
set  no  bounds.  To  him  who  is  animated  with  a  view  of  ob- 
taining approbation  from  the  Sovereign  of  the  universe,  no 
ditHculty  is  insurmountable.  Secure,  in  this  pursuit,  of  eve- 
ry needful  aid,  his  conflict  with  the  severest  pains  and  trialsf, 
is  little  more  than  the  vigorous  exercises  of  a  mind  in  health. 

17.  "His  patient  dependence  on  that  providence  which 
looks  through  all  etenity, — his  silent  resignation, — his  ready 

a  Rec'-ti-tude,  uprightness,  justness,    d  Al-le'  vi-a-ting,making  more  tolerable. 
b  Cor-po'-re-al,  pertaining  to  the  body,  e  Fii'-i<il,  pertaiMing  lo  a  cliild. 
c  Reg'-i-men,governinent,reijuIatcd  diet. 


40  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  pART  I. 

accommodation  of  his  thoughts  and  behavior  to  its  inscruta- 
ble Avays, — are  at  once  the  most  excellent  sort  of  self-denial, 
and  a  source  of  the  most  exalted  transports.  Society  is  the 
true  sphere''  of  human  virtue.  In  sotial,  active  life,  difficul- 
ties will  perpetually  be  met  with ;  restraints  of  many  kinds 
will  be  necessary  ;  and  studying  to  behave  right  in  respect 
of  these,  is  a  discipline  of  the  human  heart,  useful  to  others, 
and  improving  to  itself. 

18.  "Suffering  is  no  duty,  but  where  it  is  necessary  to 
avoid  guilt,  or  to  do  good  ;  nor  pleasure  a  crime,  but  where  it 
strengthens  the  influence  of  bad  inclinations,  or  lessens  the 
generous  activity  of  virtue.  The  happiness  allotted  to  man 
in  his  present  state,  is  indeed  faint  ai^d  low,  compared  wnth 
his  immortal  prospects,  and  noble  capacities:  but  ye!,  what- 
ever portion  of  it  the  distributing  hand  of  heaven  offers  to 
each  individual,  is  a  needful  support  and  refreshment  for  the 
present  moment,  so  lar  as  it  may  not  hinder  the  attaining  of 
his  final  destination. 

19.  '-Return,  then,  w^ith  me,  from  continued  misery  to 
moderate  enjoyment  and  grateful  alacrity:^ — return,  from 
the  contracted  views  of  solitude,  to  the  proper  duties  of  a  rela- 
tive and  de})endent  being.  Religion  is  not  confined  to  cells 
and  closets,  nor  restrained  to  sullen  retirement.  These  are 
the  gloomy  doctrines  of  Superstition,  by  which  she  endea- 
vors to  break  those  chains  of  benevolence  and  social  affec- 
tion, that  link  the  welfare  of  every  particular  with  that  of  the 
whole.  Remember  that  the  greatest  honor  yo;j  can  pay  the 
Author  of  your  being  is  a  behavior  so  cheerfu/,  as  discovers 
a  mind  satisfied  with  his  dispensations." 

20.  Here  my  preceptress  paused  ;  and  I  was  going  to  ex- 
press my  acknowledgments  for  her  discourse,  when  a  ring- 
ing of  bells  from  the  neighboring  village,  and  the  new  rising 
sun,  darting  his  beams  through  my  windows,  awoke  me. 

Mis.  Carter. 


CHAPTER    III. 

DIDACTIC    PIECES. 
SECTION    I. 

On  the  pleasure  of  acquiring  knowledge. 

1.    In  every  period  of  life,  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  is 
one  of  the  most  pleasing  employments  of  the  human  mind. 

a  Sphere,  a  globe,  orb,  circuit  b  A-Iac'-ri-ly,  cheerfulness,  liyeliness. 


Chap.  III.  didactic  pieces.  41 

But  in  youth,  there  are  circumstances  which  make  it  produc- 
tive of  higher  enjoyment.  It  is  then  that  every  thing  has  the 
charm  of  novelty  ;''  that  curiosity  and  fancy  are  awake;  and 
that  the  heart  swells  with  the  anticipations'^  of  future  emi- 
nence and  utility.  Even  in  those  lo\ver  hranches  of  instruc- 
tion which  we  call  mere  accomplishments,  there  is  some- 
thing always  pleasing  to  the  young  in  their  acquisition. 

2.  They  ^eem  to  become  every  well  educated  person  ;  they 
adorn,  if  they  do  not  dignify  humanity  ;  and  what  is  far  more, 
Avhile  they  give  an  elegant  employment  to  hours  of  leisure 
and  relaxation,  they  afford  a  means  of  contributing  to  the 
purity  and  innocence  of  domestic  life.  But  in  the  acquisi- 
tion of  knowledge  of  the  higher  kind, — in  the  hours  whea 
the  young  gradually  begin  the  study  of  the  lav/s  of  nature, 
and  of  the  faculties  of  the  human  mind,  or  of  the  magnifi- 
cent revelations  of  the  Gospel, — there  is  a  pleasure  of  a  sub- 
limer  nature. 

3.  The  cloud,  which  in  their  infant  years  seemed  to  cover 
nature  from  their  view,  begins  gradually  to  resolve."^  The 
world  in  which  they  are  placed,  opens  with  all  its  wonders 
upon  tlieir  eye;  their  powers  of  attention  and  observation 
seem  to  expand  with  the  scene  before  them  ;  and  while  they 
see,  for  the  first  time,  the  immensity  of  the  universe  of  God, 
and  mark  the  majestic  simplicity  of  those  laws  by  Avhich  its 
operations  are  conducted,  they  feel  as  if  they  were  awakened 
to  a  higher  species  of  being,  and  admitted  into  nearer  inter- 
course with  the  Author  of  Nature. 

4.  It  is  this  period,  accordingly,  more  than  all  others,  that 
determines  our  hopes  or  fears  of  the  future  fate  of  the  young. 
To  feel  no  joy  in  such  pursuits, — to  listen  carelessly  to  the 
voice  which  brings  such  magnificent  instruction, — to  see  the 
veil  raised  Avhich  conceals  the  counsels  of  the  Deity,  and  to 
show  no  emotion  at  the  discovery, — are  symptoms  of  a  weak 
and  torpid'*  spirit — of  a  mind  unworthy  of  the  advantages 
it  possesses,  and  fitted  only  for  the  humility  of  sensual  and 
ignoble  pleasure. 

5.  Of  those,  on  the  contrary,  who  distinguish  themselves 
by  the  love  of  knowledge, — who  follow  with  ardor  the  career 
that  is  open  to  them, — we  are  apt  to  form  the  most  honorable 
presages.*'  It  is  the  character  which  is  natural  to  youth,  and 
which,  therefore,  promises  well  of  their  maturity.  We  fore- 
see for  them,  at  least  a  life  of  pure  and  virtuous  enjoyment: 
and  we  are  willing  to  anticipate  no  common  share  of  future 
usefulness  and  splendor. 

a  Nov'el-ty,  newness,  recontness.  dTor'-pid.  destitute  of  feelin?,  dull. 

/>  Au-tic-i-pa'-tioiis.  foreta.sto.s.  ,      e  Pre'-sages,  siijus  foreahowing eyents. 

c  Resolve'j  dijisolve,  determine  in  mind. 


42  New    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   I. 

6.  In  tlie  second  place,  the  pursuits  of  knowledge  lead  not 
only  to  happiness,  but  to  honor.  "  Length  of  days  is  in  her 
right  hand,  and  in  her  left  are  riches  and  honor.  It  is  hon- 
orable to  excel,  even  in  the  most  trilling  species  of  knowl- 
edge— in  those  which  can  arause  only  the  passing  hour.  It 
is  more  honorable  to  excel  in  those  different  branches  of  sci- 
ence, which  are  connected  with  the  liberal  professions  of  life 
and  which  tend  so  much  to  the  dignity  and  well-being  of 
humanity. 

7.  It  is  the  means  of  raising  the  most  obscure  to  esteem 
and  attention  ;  it  opens  to  ihe  just  ambition  of  youth  some  of 
the  most  distinguisbed  and  respected  situations  in  society; 
and  it  places  them  there,  with  the  consoling  reflection,  that  it 
h  to  their  own  industry  and  labor,  in  the  providence  of  God, 
that  they  are  alone  indebted  for  them.  But,  to  excel  in  the 
higher  attainments  of  knowledge, — to  be  distinguished  in 
those  greater  pursuits  Avhich  have  commanded  the  attention, 
and  exhausted  the  abilities  of  the  wise  in  every  former  age, — 
is,  perhaps,  of  all  the  distinctions  of  human  understanding, 
the  most  honorable  and  grateful. 

S.  When  we  look  back  upon  the  great  men  who  have  gone 
before  us  in  every  path  of  glory,  we  feel  our  eye  turned  from 
the  ca-reer"*  of  war  and  of  ambition,  and  involuntarily  rest 
upon  those  who  have  displayed  the  great  truths  of  religion, — 
who  have  investigated  the  laws  of  social  welfare,  or  extend- 
ed the  sphere  of  human  knowledge.  These  are  honors,  we 
feel,  which  have  been  gained  without  a  crime,  and  which 
can  be  enjoyed  without  remorse.  They  are  honors  also 
which  can  never  die, — which  can  shed  lustre  even  upon  the 
humblest  head, — and  to  which  the  young  of  every  succeed- 
ing age  will  i(^ok  up,  as  their  brightest  incentive*^  to  the  pur- 
suit of  virtuous  fame. 

SECTION    II. 

On  ihe  uses  of  knouledge. 

1.  Toe  first  end  to  which  all  wisdom  or  knowledge  ought 
to  be  employed,  is,  to  illustrate'^  the  wisdom  or  goodness  of 
the  Father  of  Nature.  Every  science  that  is  cultivated  by 
men  leads  naturally  to  religious  thought — from  the  study 
of  the  plant  that  grows  beneath  our  feet,  to  that  of  the  Host 
of  Heaven  above  us,  who  perform  their  stated  revolutions  in 
majestic  silence,  amid  the  expanse  of  infinity.  When  in  the 
youth  of  Moses,  "The  Lord  appeared  to  him  in  Horeb,"  a 
voice  was  heard,  saying,  "draw  nigh  hither,  and  put  oiff  thy 

a  ( •a-re^er',  a  course,  a  race.  c  Il-Ius'-trate,  to  explain,  make  clear. 

b  In-ceii'-tives,  iiiciteiuents. 


CfIAP.    III.  DIDACTIC    PIECES.  43 

shoes  from  thy  feet ;  for  the  place  where  thou  standcst  is 
holy  irround." 

2.  It  is  with  ?uch  reverential  awe  that  every  greTit  or  ele- 
vated mind  will  approach  to  the  study  of  naiure;  and  with 
such  feelings  of  adoration  and  gratitude,  that  he  will  receive 
the  illumination  that  gradually  opens  upon  his  soul.  It  is 
not  the  lifeless  mass  of  matter,  he  will  then  feel,  that  he  is 
examining;  it  is  the  mighty  machine  of  Eternal  Wisdom, — 
the  workmanship  of  Him,  "in  whom  every  thing  lives,  and 
moves,  and  has  its  being." 

3.  Under  an  aspect  of  this  kind,  it  is  impossible  to  pursue 
knowledge  without  mingling  with  it  the  most  elevated  senti- 
ments of  devotion;  it  is  impossible  to  perceive  the  laws  of 
nature,  Aviihout  perceiving,  at  the  same  time,  the  presence 
and  the  Providence  of  the  Lawgiver; — and  thus  it  is,  that, 
in  every  age,  the  evidences  of  religion  have  advanced  with 
the  progress  of  true  philosophy;  and  that  science,*  in  erect- 
ing a  monument  to  herself,  has  at  the  same  time  erected  an 
altar  to  the  Deity. 

4.  The  knowledge  of  nature  is  not  exhausted.  There  are 
many  great  discoveries  yet  awaiting  the  labors  of  science  ; 
and  with  them  there  are  also  awaiting  to  humanity,  many 
additional  proofs  of  the  wisdom  and  benevolence  "of  Him 
that  m.ade  us."  To  the  hope  of  these  great  discoveries,  few 
indeed  can  pretend;  yet  let  it  be  ever  remembered,  that  he 
who  can  trace  any  one  new  fact,  or  can  exem|)liiy^  anv  one 
new  instance  of  divine  wisdom  or  benevolence  in  the  sys- 
tem of  nature,  has  not  lived  in  vain. — that  he  has.  added"  to 
the  sum  of  human  knowledge, — and,  what  is  far  more,  that 
he  has  added  to  the  evidence  of  those  greater  trutiis,  upon 
which  the  hcp{)iness  of  time  and  eternity  depends. 

5.  The  second  great  end  to  which  all  knowledge  ought  to 
be  employed,  is,  to  the  welfare  of  humanity.  Every  science 
is  the  foundation  of  some  art,  beneficial  to  men ;  and  while 
the  study  of  it  leads  us  to  see  the  beneficence  of  the  laws  of 
nature,  it  calls  upon  us  also  to  follow  the  great  end  of  the 
Father  of  Nature,  in  their  employment  and  application.  I 
need  not  say  what  a  field  is  llius  opened  to  the  benevolence 
of  knowledge:  1  need  not  tell  you  that  in  every  department 
of  learning  there  is  good  to  be  done  to  mankind;  I  need  not 
remind  you,  that  the  age  in  which  we  live  ha^  given  us  the 
noblest  examples  of  this  kind,  and  that  science  now  finds  its 
highest  glory,  in  improving  the  condition,  or  in  allaying  the  * 
miseries  of  humanity. 

a  Sci'-ence,  knowleflffc  depending  on    b  Ex-em'-pli-fy,  to  illustrate  by  exain-  ^ 
Bpcculative  principles,  rather  than        pie. 
practice. 


44  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    I. 

6.  But  there  is  one  thing  of  which  it  is  proper  ever  to 
remind  you, — because  the  modesty  of  knowledge  often  h^ads 
us  to  forget  it, — and  that  is,  the  power  of  scientific  benevo- 
lence is  far  greater  than  that  of  all  others  to  the  welfare  of 
society.  The  benevolence  ol  the  opulent,*  however  emi- 
nent it  may  be,  perishes  with  themselves.  The  benevolence, 
even  of  sovereigns,  is  limited  to  the  narrow  boundary  of  hu- 
man life;  and  not  unfrequently  is  succeeded  by  different 
and  discordant  counsels.  But  the  benevolence  of  knowledge 
is  of  a  kind  as  extensive  as  the  race  of  man,  and  as  perma- 
nent as  the  existence  of  society. 

7.  He,  in  whatever  situation  he  may  be,  who  in  the  study 
of  science  has  discovered  a  new  means  of  alleviating  pain, 
or  of  remedying  disease, — who  has  described  a  wiser  method 
of  preventing  poverty,  or  of  shielding  misfortune, — v/ho  has 
suggested  additional  means  of  increasing  or  improving  the 
beneficent  productions  of  nature, — has  left  a  memorial  of 
himself  which  can  never  be  forgotten, — which  will  commu- 
nicate happiness  to  ages  yet  unborn, — and  which,  in  the  em- 
})hatic  language  of  scripture,  renders  him  a  "  fellow-worker" 
with  God  himself,  in  the  improvement  of  his  Creation. 

8.  The  third  great  end  of  all  knowledge  is  the  improve- 
ment and  exaltation  of  our  own  minds.  It  was  the  voice  of 
the  apostle, — "  What  manner  of  men  ought  ye  to  be,  to  whom 
the  truths  of  the  Gospel  have  come  ?" — It  is  the  voice  of  na- 
ture also, — "  What  manner  of  men  ought  ye  to  be,  to  whom 
the  treasures  of  Avisdom  are  opened  ?" — Of  all  the  spectacles, 
indeed,  which  life  can  offer  us,  there  is  none  more  painful,  or 
unnatural,  than  that  of  the  union  of  vice  w^ith  knowledge. 
It  counteracts  the  great  designs  of  God  in  the  distribution  of 
wisdom;  and  it  assimilates'^  men,  not  to  the  usual  character 
of  human  frailty,  but  to  those  dark  and  malignant  spirits  who 
fell  from  heaven,  and  who  excel  in  knowledge  only  that 
they  may  employ  it  in  malevolence. 

9.  To  the  wise  and  virtuous  man,  on  the  contrary, — to  him 
whose  moral  attainments  have  kept  pace  with  his  intellec- 
tual, and  who  has  employed  the  great  talent  with  which  he 
is  intrusted  to  the  glory  of  God,  and  to  the  good  of  humani- 
ty,— is  presented  the  sublimest  prospect  that  mortality  can 
know.  "  In  my  father's  house,"  says  our  Savior,  "  are  many 
mansions;" — mansions,  Ave  may  dare  interpret, <^  fitted  to  the 
different  powers  that  life  has  acquired,  and  to  the  uses  to 
which  they  have  been  applied. 

o  Oi)'-u-lent,  very  wealthy,  rich.  c  In-ter'  pret,  to  explain. 

b  As-sim'-i-latcs,  makes  like. 


CnAP.    III.  DIDACTIC    PIECES.  45 

SECTION    III. 

Integrity^  the  guide  of  life, 

1.  Evert  one  "who  has  bei^iin  to  make  any  progress  in  thi 
world,  will  be  sensible,  that  to  conduct  himself  in  human  af- 
fairs with  wisdom  and  propriety,  is  often  a  matter  of  no  small 
difficulty.  Amidst  that  variety  of  characters,  of  jarring  dis- 
positions, and  of  interfering  interests,  which  take  place  among 
those  with  whom  we  h^.ve  intercourse,  we  are  frequently  at 
a  stand  as  to  the  part  most  prudent  for  us  to  choose.  Igno- 
rant of  what  is  passing  in  the  breasts  of  those  around  us, 
w^e  can  form  no  more  than  doubtful  conjectures  concerning 
the  events  that  are  likely  to  happen. 

2.  They  may  take  some  turn  altogether  different  from  the 
course  in  which  we  have  imagined  they  were  to  run,  accord- 
ing to  w^iich  we  had  formed  our  plans.  The  slightest  inci- 
dent often  shoots  out  into  important  consequences,  of  which 
we  were  not  aware.  The  labyrinth,  becomes  so  intricate,^ 
that  the  most  sagacious*^  can  lay  hold  of  no  clue  to  guide  him 
through  it:  he  finds  himself  embarrassed,  and  at  a  loss  how 
to  act. — In  public  and  in  private  life,  in  managing^  his  own 
concerns,  and  in  directing  those  of  others,  the  doubt  started 
by  the  wise  man  frequeM^tly  occurs  ;    Uho  knoweth  what  is 

^ good  for  wan  in  this  life  ? 

3.  While  thus  fatigued  with  conjecture,  we  remain  per- 
plexed and  undetermined  in  our  choice;  we  are  at  the  same 
time  pulled  to  dilferent  sides  by  the  various  emotions  which 
belong  to  our  nature.  On  one  hand,  pleasure  allures  us  to 
what  is  agreeable  j  on  the  other,  interest  weighs  us  down 
toward  what  seems  gainful.  Honor  attracts  us  to  what  is 
splendid  ;  and  indolence  inclines  us  to  what  is  easy.  In  the 
consultations  which  we  hold  with  our  ov/n  mind  concerning 
our  conduct,  how  often  are  we  thus  divided  within  our- 
selves,— puzzled  by  the  uncertainty  of  future  events,  and 
distracted  by  the  contest  of  dilferent  inclinations  ! 

4.  It  is  in  such  situations  as  these,  that  the  principle  of  in- 
tegrity interposes  to  give  light  and  direction.  While  worldly 
men  fluctuate  in  the  midst  of  those  perplexities  which  I  have 
described,  the  virtuous  man  has  one  oracle*^  to  which  he  re- 
sorts in  every  dubious  case,  and  who-e  decisions  he  holds  to 
be  infallible.  He  consults  his  own  conscience  ;  he  listens  to 
the  voice  of  God.     Were  it  only  on  a  tew  occasions  that  this 

a  In-tPg'-ri-ty,  uprightness.  c  Sa-sa'-oious,  wise,  discerning. 

b  In'-tii-cate,  entangled,  involved.  d  Or'-a-cle,  a  Pcisjan  rlnity. 


46  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   I. 

oracle  could  be  consulted,  its  value  would  be  less.     But  it  is 
a  mistake  to  imagine  that  its  responses^  are  seldom  given. 

5.  Hardly  is  there  any  material  transaction  vv^hatever  in 
human  life — any  important  question  that  holds  us  in  suspense 
as  to  practice — but  the  difference  between  right  and  wrong  will 
show  itself;  and  the  principle  of  integrity  will,  if  we  listen 
to  it  impartially,  give  a  clear  decision.  "Whenever  the  mind 
is  divided  in  itself,  conscience  is  seldom  or  never  neutral.^ 
There  is  always  one  scale  of  the  balance,  into  which  it 
throws  the  weight  of  some  virtue,  or  some  praise  ;  of  some- 
thing that  is  just  and  true,  lovely,  honest,  and  of  good  report. 

6.  These  are  the  forms  which  rise  to  the  observation  of 
the  upright  man.  By  others  they  may  be  unseen  or  over- 
looked; but  in  his  eye,  the  luster  of  virtue  outshines  all 
other  brightness.  Wherever  this  pole-star  directs  him,  he 
steadily  holds  his  course. — Let  the  issue  of  that  course  be 
ever  so  uncertain ; — let  his  friends  differ  from  him  in  opin- 
ion ; — let  his  enemies  clamor; — he  is  not  moved  ; — his  pur- 
pose is  fixed. 

.  7.  He  asks  but  one  question  of  his  heart, — What  is  the 
part  most  becoming  the  station  which  he  possesses, — the 
character  which  he  wishes  to  bear, — the  expectations  which 
good  men  entertain  of  hihi  ?  Being  once  decided  as  to  this, 
he  hesitates  no  more.  He  shuts  his  ears  against  every  solici- 
tation. He  pursues  the  direct  line  of  integrity  without  turn- 
ing either  to  the  right  haiid  or  to  the  left.  "It  is  the  Lord 
who  callelh.  Him  1  follow.  Let  hioi  order  what  seemeth 
good  in  his  sight." It  is  in  this  manner,  that  the  integri- 
ty of  the  upright  acts  as  his  guide.  Blair. 

SECTION    IV. 

The  happiness  of  animals  a  proof  of  divine  benevolence. 

1.  The  air,  the  earth,  the  water,  teem  with  delighted  ex- 
istence. In  a  spring  noon  or  summer  evening,  on  which 
ever  side  we  turn  our  eyes,  myriads  of  h[:^ppy  beings  crowd 
upon  our  view.  "  The  insect  youth  are  on  the  wing." 
SAvarms  of  new  born  flies  are  trying  their  pinions  in  the  air. 
Their  sportive  motions, — their  gratuitous*'  activity, — their 
continual  change  of  place,  without  use  or  purpose, — testify 
their  joy,  and  the  exultation  which  they  feel  in  their  lately 
discovered  faculties. 

2.  A  bee,  among  the  flowers  in  spring,  is  one  of  the  most 
cheerful  objects  that  can  be  looked  upon.     Its  life  appears  to 

a  Re-spor>s'-es,  answers.  c  Gra-tu^-i-tous,  free,  without  reward 

d  Neu'-tral,  taking  no  part  in  a  contest. 


Chap.  III.  didactic  pieces.  47 

be  all  enjoymentj— so  busy  and  so  pleased, — yet  it  is  only  a 
specimen  oV  insect  life,  with  which,  by  reason  of  the  animal's 
being  half  domesticated,*  we  happen  to  be  better  acquainted 
than  we  are  Aviih  that  of  others.  The  whole  winged  insect 
trihe,  it  is  probable,  are  equally  intent  upon  their  proper  em- 
ployments, and  under  every  variety  of  constitution,  gratified, 
and  perhaps  equally  gratified, 'by  the  offices  which  the  Au- 
thor of  their  nature  has  assigned  to  them. 

3.  But  the  atmosphere  is  not  the  only  scene  of  their  en- 
joyment. Plants  are  covered  with  little  insects,  greedily 
sucking  their  juices.  Other  specie^  are  running  about,  with 
an  alacrity  in  their  motions,  which  carries  with  it  every  mark 
of  pleasure.  Large  patches  of  ground  are  sometimes  half 
covered  with  these  brisk  and  sprightly  natures. 

4.  If  Ave  look  to  what  the  waters  produce,  shoals  of  fish 
frequent  the  loargins  of  rivers,  of  Isk^es^  and  of  the  sea  itself. 
The>>e  are  so  happy,  iliat  they  know  not  what  to  do  v/ith 
themselves.  Their  attitudes,^' — their  vivacity — their  leaps 
out  of  the  water— their  frolics  in  h — all  conduce  to  show 
their  excess  of  spirits,  and  are  simply  the  effects  of  that  ex- 
cess. Walking  by  the  seaside,  in  a  calm  evening,  upon  a 
sandy  shore  and  with  an  ebbing  tide,  I  have  frequently  re- 
marked the  appearance  of  a  dark  cloud,  or  rather  very  thick 
mist,  hanging  over  the  edge  of  the  water  to  the  height  per- 
liapsol"  half  a  yard,  and  of  the  breadth  of  two  or  three  yards, 
stretching  along  the  coast  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach»  and 
always  retiring  with  the  water. 

5.  When  this  cloud  came  to  be  examined,  it  proved  to  be 
so  much  space  filled  with  young  shrimps,'^  in  the  act  of 
bounding  into  the  air  from  the  shallow  margin  of  the  water, 
or  from  the  wet  sand.  If  any  motion  of  a  mute  animal 
could  express  delight,  it  was  this :  if  they  had  designed  to 
make  signs  of  their  happiness,  they  could  not  have  done  it 
more  intelligibly.  Suppose,  then,  what  there  is  no  reason 
to  doubt,  each  individual  of  this  number  to  be  in  a  state  of 
positive  enjoyment, — what  a  sum,  collectively,  of  gratifica- 
tion and  pleasure  have  we  here  before  our  view  ! 

6.  The  young  of  all  animals  appear  to  receive  pleasure, 
simply  from  the  exercise  of  their  limbs  and  bodily  faculties, 
without  reference  to  any  end  to  be  attained,  or  any  use  to  be 
answered  by  the  exertion.  A  child,  without  knowing  any 
thing  of  the  use  of  language,  is  in  a  high  degree  delighted 
with  being  able  to  speak.  Its  incessant  repetition  of  a  few 
articulate  sounds,  or  perhaps  of  a  single  Avord  which  it  has 
learned  to  pronounce,  proves  this  point  clearly. 

a  Do-mes'-ti-ca-tcd,  made  tame.  c  Slirimps,  small  shell  fi^h. 

b  At'-ti-tudes,  postures,  gestures, 


NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  1. 

7.  Nor  is  it  less  pleased  with  its  first  successful  endeavors 
to  walk,  although  entirely  ignorant  of  the  importance  of  the 
attainment  to  its  future  life,  and  even  without  applying  it  to 
any  present  purpose.  A  child  is  delighted  with  speaking, 
without  having  any  thing  to  say, — and  with  walking,  without 
knowing  whither  to  go.  And  previously  to  hoth  these,  it  is 
reasonable  to  heiieve,  that  the  waking  hours  of  infancy  ore 
agreeably  taken  up  with  the  exercis'e  of  visioa,  or  perhaps 
more  properly  speaking,  with  learning  to  see. 

8.  Bat  it  is  not  for  youih  alone  that  the  great  Parent  of 
creation  has  provided.  Happiness  is  found  v/ith  tne  pairing 
cat,  no  less  than  with  the  playful  kitten, — m  the  arm-chair 
of  dozmg  age,  as  well  as  in  the  sprightliiieas  of  the  chance,  or 
the  animation  of  the  chace.  To  no'-^'dty,  *o  acuteness  ot 
sensation,  to  hope,  to  ardor  of  pursuit,  succeeds,  what  is  in 
no  inconsiderable  degree  an  equivalent^  for  them  all,  "per- 
ception of  ease." 

9.  Herein  is  the  exact  difference  between  the  young  and 
the  old.'  The  young  are  not  happy  but  when  enjoying  plea- 
sure; the  old  are  happy  Avhen  free  from  pain.  And  this 
constitution  suits  with  the  degrees  of  animal  power  which 
they  respectively  possess.  The  vigor  of  youth  was  to  be 
stimulated  to  action  by  impatience  of  rest;  while  to  the  im- 
becility'^  of  age,  quietness  and  repose  become  positive  gratifi- 
cations. In  one  important  respect  the  advantage  is  with  the 
old.  A  state  of  ease  is,  generally  speaking,  more  attainable 
tlian  a  state  of  pleasure.  A  constitution,  therefore,  which  can 
enjoy  ease,  is  preferable  to  that  which  can  taste  only  pleasure. 

10.  This  same  perception  of  ease  oftentimes  renders  old 
age  a  condition  of  g^reat  comfort ;  especially  when  riding  at 
its  anchor,  after  a  busy  or  tempestuous  life.  It  is  well  de- 
scribed by  Rousseau''  to  be  the  interval  of  repose  and  enjoy- 
ment, between  the  hurry  and  the  end  of  life.  How  far  the 
same  cause  extends  to  other  animal  natures,  cannot  be 
judged  of  with  certainty.  The  appearance  of  satisfaction 
with  which  most  animals,  as  their  activity  subsides,^  seek 
and  enjoy  rest,  affords  reason  to  believe,  that  this  source  of 
gratification  is  appointed  to  advanced  life,  under  all,  or  most 
of  its  various  forms. 

11.  There  is  much  truth  in  the  following  representation 
given  by  Dr.  Percival,  a  very  pious  writer,  as  v/ell  as  excel- 
lent man  : — "  To  the  intelligent  and  virtuous,  old  age  pre- 
sents a  scene  of  tranquil  enjoyments,  of  obedient  appetites, 
of  well  reflated  affections,  of  maturity  in  knowledge,  and 
of  calm  preparation  for  immortality.    In  this  serene  and  dig- 

a  E-quiv'-a-lent,  what  is  equal  in  worth,  c  Rous-seau',  a  French  philosopher. 
b  Im-be-cir-i-ty,  weakness  d  sSub-sides',  sinits,  ceases,  ends. 


Chap.  IIL  didactic  pieces.  49 

nified  state,  placed  as  it  were  on  the  confines  of  the  two 
worlds,  the  mind  of  a  good  man  reviews  what  is  past  with 
the  complacency  of  an  approving  conscience ;  and  looks  for- 
ward, with  hmnble  mercy  in  the  confidence  of  God,  and  with 
devout  aspirations,^  towards  his  eternal  and  ever-increasing 
favor."  Paley. 

SECTION    V. 

The  Seasons. 

J.  Persons  of  reflection  and  sensibility,  contemplate  with 
xnterest  the  scenes  of  nature.  The  changes  of  the  year  impart 
a  color  and  character  to  their  thoughts  and  feelingfi  When 
the  seasons  walk  their  round, — when  the  earth  buds,  the 
corn  ripens,  and  the  leaf  falls — not  only  are  the  sense^s  im- 
pressed, but  the  mind  is  instructed ;  the  heart  is  touched 
with  sentiment,  the  fancy  amused  with  visions.  To  a  lover 
of  nature  and  of  wisdom,  the  vicissitudes  of  the  season  con- 
vey a  proof  and  exhibition  of  the  Avise  and  benevolent  con- 
trivance of  the  Author  of  all  things. 

2.  When  suffering  the  inconveniences  of  the  ruder  parts 
of  the  year,  we  may  be  tempted  to  wonder  whyihis  rotation^ 
is  necessary — why  we  could  not  be  constantly  gratified  with 
vernal  bloom  and  fragrance,  or  summer  beauty  and  profusion. 
We  imagine  that,  in  a  world  of  our  creation,  there  would  al- 
ways be  a  blessing  in  the  air,  and  flowers  and  fruits  on  the 
earth.  The  chilling  blasts  and  driving  snow, — the  desolated 
field,  withered  foliage,'^  and  naked  tree, — should  make  no 
part  of  the  scenery  which  we  would  produce.  A  little 
thought,  however,  is  sufficient  to  show  the  folly,  if  not  im- 
piety, of  such  distrust  in  the  appointments  of  the  great 
Creator. 

3.  The  succession  and  contrast  of  the  seasons,  give  scope 
to  that  care  and  foresight,  diligence  and  industry,  which  are 
essential  to  the  dignity  and  enjoyment  of  human  beings, 
whose  happiness  is  connected  with  the  exertion  of  their  fa- 
culties. With  our  present  constitution  and  state,  in  which 
impressions  on  the  senses  enter  so  much  into  our  pleasures 
and  pains,  and  the  vivacity  of  our  sensations  is  affected  by 
comparison, — the  uniformity  and  continuance  of  a  perpetual 
spring,  would  greatly  impair  its  pleasing  effect  upon  our  feel- 
ings. 

4.  The  present  distribution  of  the  several  parts  of  the 
year,  is  evidently  connected  with  the  welfare  of  the  whole, 

a  As-pi-ra'-tions,  ardent  wishes.  c  Vern'-al,  belonging  to  s;)ring. 

b  Ro-ta'-tion,  turning  as  a  wheel.  d  Fo'-li-age,  leaves  of  trees. 

4 


50  NEW    EXGLTSII    READER.  PaRT  I. 

and  the  production  of  the  greatest  sum  of  being  and  enjoy- 
ment. That  motion  in  the  earth,  and  change  of  place  in  the 
sun,  which  cause  one  region  of  the  gh)be  to  be  consigned  to 
cold,  decay,  and  barrenness,  impart  to  another  heat  and  life, 
fertility  and  beauty.  While  in  our  climate  the  earth  is  bound 
with  frost,  and  the  "  chilly  smothering  snows"  are  falling, 
the  inhabitants  of  another  behold  the  earth  planted  with  ve- 
getation and  appareled  in  verdure,  and  those  of  a  third  are 
rejoicing  in  the  appointed  weeks  of  a  harvest. 

5.  Each  season  comes,  attended  with  its  benefits  and 
pleasures.  All  are  sensible  of  the  charms  of  spring.  Then 
the  senses  are  delighted  with  the  feast  that  is  furnished  on 
every  field,  and  on  every  hill.  The  eye  is  sweetly  delayed 
on  ever\#object  to  which  it  turns.  It  is  grateful  to  perceive 
how  widely,  yet  chastely,  nature  has  mixed  her  colors  and 
painted  her  robe, — how  bountifully  she  has  scattered  her 
blossoms  aud  flung  her  odors.  We  listen  with  joy  to  the 
melody  she  has  awakened  in  the  grov^es,  and  catch  health 
fiorn  the  pure  and  Xepid*  gales  that  blow  from  the  mountains. 

6.  When  the  summer  exhibits  the  whole  force  of  active 
nature,  and  shines  in  full  beauty  and  splendor, — when  ti)e 
succeeding  season  alfersits  "purple  stores  and  golden  grain,'' 
or  displays  its  blended  and  softened  tints, — when  the  winter 
puts  on  its  sullen  aspect,  and  brings  stillness  and  repose, 
alfording  a  respit  from  the  labors  which  have  occupied  the 
prec-eding  months,  inviting  us  to  reflection,  and  compensa- 
ting for  the  want  of  attractions  abroad,  by  fireside  delights, 
and  home-felt  joys, —  in  all  this  interchange  and  variety,  we 
find  reason  to  acknowledge  the  wise  and  benevolent  care  of 
the  God  of  seasons. 

7.  We  are  passing  from  the  finer  to  the  rudet  portions  of 
the  year.  The  sun  erait^'^  a  fafftter  beam,  and  the  sky  is 
frequently  overcast.  The  gardens  and  fields  have  become  a 
waste  and  the  forests  have  shed  their  verdant  honors.  The 
hills  are  no  more  enlivened  with  the  bleating  of  flocks,  and 
the  woodland  no  longer  resounds  with  the  song  of  birds.  In 
these  changes  we  see  evidences  of  our  own  instability,  and 
images  of  our  transitory'^  state. 

8.  Our  life  is  compared  to  a  falling  leaf.  When  we  are 
disposed  to  count  on  protracted  years, — to  defer  any  serious 
thoughts  of  futurity,  and  to  extend  our  plans  through  a  long 
succession  of  seasons, — the  spectacle  of  the  "fading  many 
colored  woods,"  and  the  naked  trees,  affords  a  salutary  ad- 
monition of  our  frailty.  It  should  teach  us  to  fill  the  short 
year  of  our  life,  or  that  portion  of  it  which  may  be  allotted 

a  Tep'-id,  moderately  warm,  c  Trans'-i-to-ry,  fleeting. 

b  EJ-iuit',  to  send  out. 


Chap.  III.  didactic  pieces.  51 

to  us,  with  useful  employments  and  harmless  pleasures, — to 
practice  that  industry,  activity,  and  order,  which  the  course 
of  the  natural  world  is  constantly  preachins;. 

9.  Let  not  the  passions  blight  the  intellect  in  the  spring  of 
its  advancement;  nor  indolence  nor  vice  canker  the  promise 
of  the  neart  in  the  blossom.  Then  shall  the  summer  of  life 
be  adorned  with  moral  beauty, — the  autumn  yield  a  harvest 
of  wisdom  and  virtue, — and  the  winter  of  age  be  cheered 
wath  pleasing  reflections  on  the  past,  and  bright  hopes  of  the 
future.  Monthly  Anthology. 

SECTION   VI. 

On  the  Swiftness  of  Time. 

1.  The  natural  advantages  w4iich  arise  from  the  position 
of  the  earth  we  inhabit,  with  respect  to  the  other  planets,  af- 
ford much  employment  to  mathematical  speculation, — by 
which  it  has  been  discovered,  that  no  other  conformation  of 
the  system  could  have  given  such  commodious  distributions 
of  light  and  heat,  or  have  imparted  fertility  and  pleasure  to 
so  great  a  part  of  a  revolving  sphere. 

2.  It  may  perhaps  be  observed  by  the  moralist,  with  equal 
reason,  that  our  globe  seems  particularly  fitted  for  the  resi- 
dence of  a  beins:,  placed  here  only  for  a  short  time,  whose 
task  is  to  advance  himself  to  a  higher  and  happier  state  of 
existence,  by  unremitted  vigilance  of  caution,  and  activity 
of  virtue. 

/  3.  The  duties  required  of  man,  are  such  as  human  nature 
does  not  willingly  perform,  and  such  as  those  are  inclined  to 
delay,  who  yet  intend,  at  some  time,  to  fulfill  them.  It  was 
therefore  necessary,  that  this  universal  reluctance  should  be 
counteracted,^  and  the  drowsiness  of  hesitation  wakened  into 
resolve,— that  the  danger  of  procrastination^  should  be  always 
in  view,  and  the  fallacies'^  of  security  be  hourly  detected. 

4.  To  this  end  all  the  appearances  of  nature  uniformly 
conspire.  Whatever  we  see,  on  every  side,  reminds  us  of 
the  lapse  of  time  and  the  flux  of  life.  The  day  and  night 
succeed  each  other;  the  rotation  of  seasons  diversifies  the 
year ;  the  sun  rises,  attains  the  meridian,  declines  and  sets; 
and  the  moon,  every  night,  changes  its  form. 

5.  The  day  has  been  considered  as  an  image  of  the  year, 
and  a  year  as  the  representation  of  life.  The  morning  an- 
swers to  the  spring,  and  the  spring  to  childhood  and  youth. 
The  noon  corresponds  to  the  summer,  and  the  summer  to 

a  Coun-ter-act'-ed,  acted  in  opposition.         c  Fal'-Ia-cies,  false  appearances, 
b  Pro-cras-ti-na'-tion,  delay.  deceits. 


52  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   I. 

the  Strength  of  manhood.  The  evening  is  an  emblem'  of 
autumn,  and  autumn  of  declining  life.  The  night,  with  its 
silence  and  darkness,  shows  the  winter,  in  w^hich  all  the  pow- 
ers of  vegetation  are  benumbed  ;  and  the  winter  points  out 
the  time  when  life  shall  cease,  with  its  hopes  and  pleasures. 

6.  He  that  is  carried  forward,  hoAvever  swiftly,  by  a  mo- 
tion equable  and  easy,  perceives  not  the  change  of  place  but 
by  the  variation  of  objects.  If  the  wheel  of  life  which  rolls 
thus  silently  along,  passed  on  with  undistinguishable  uni- 
formity, we  should  never  mark  its  approaches  to  the  end  of 
the  course.  If  one  hour  were  like  another, — if  the  passage 
of,  the  sun  did  not  show  that  the  day  is  wasting, — if  the 
change  of  seasons  did  not  impress  upon  us  the  flight  of  the 
year, — quantities  of  duration,  equal  to  days  and  years,  would 
glide  unobserved. 

7.  If  the  parts  of  time  were  not  variously  colored,  v/e 
should  never  discern  their  departure  or  succession ;  but 
should  live,  thoughtless  of  the  past,  and  careless  of  the  fu- 
ture,— without  will,  and  perhaps  without  power  to  compute 
the  periods  of  life,  or  to  compare  the  time  which  is  already 
lost  with  that  which  may  probably  remain. 

8.  But  the  course  of  time  is  so  visibly  marked,  that  it  is 
even  observed  by  the  passage, — and  by  nations  who  have 
raised  their  minds  very  little  above  animal  instinct:  there 
are  human  beings,  whose  language  does  not  supply  them 
with  words  by  which  they  can  number  five ;  but  I  have  read 
of  none  that  have  not  names  for  day  and  night,  for  summer 
and  winter. 

0.  Yet  it  is  certain  that  these  admonitions  of  nature,  how- 
ever importunate,''  are  too  often  vain;  and  that  many,  wiio 
mark  with  such  accuracy  the  course  of  time,  appear  to  have 
little  sensibility  of  the  decline  of  life.  Every  man  has  some- 
thing to  do  which  he  neglects  ;  every  man  has  faults  to  con- 
quer which  he  delays  to  combat. 

10.  So  little  do  Ave  accustom  ourselves  to  consider  the  ef- 
fects of  time,  that  things  necessary  and  certain,  often  surprise 
us  like  unexpected  contingencies.*^  We  leave  the  beauty  in 
her  bloom,  and,  after  an  absence  of  twenty  years,  wonder  at 
our  return  to  find  her  faded.  We  meet  those  whom  we  left 
children,  and  can  scarcely  persuade  ourselves  to  treat  them 
as  men.  The  traveler  visits,  in  age,  those  countries  through 
which  he  rambled  in  his  youth,  and  hopes  for  merriment  at 
the  old  place.  The  man  of  business,  wearied  with  unsatis- 
factory prosperity,  retires  to  the  town  of  his  nativity,  and  ex- 

a  EtD'-bl<^in,  a  representation  of  some-  b  Irn-por'-lu-nate,  pressing  with  solici* 
ihjn^.  tation. 


I  anon. 
c  Con-tiu'-gen-cies,  casual  events. 


Chap.  III.  didactic  pieces.  53 

peels  to  play  away  his  last  years  with  the  companions  of  his 
childhood,  and  recover  youth  in  the  lields  where  he  once 
was  youn^. 

11.  From  this  inattention — so  general  and  so  mischievous 
— let  it  he  every  man's  study  to  exempt  himself.  Let  him 
That  desires  to  see  others  liappy,  make  haste  to  give  w^hile 
his  orjit  can  be  enjoyed ;  and  remember,  that  every  moment 
of  delay  takes  away  something  from  the  value  of  his  benefac- 
tion ;•'  and  let  him  who  proposes  his  own  happiness,  reflect, 
that  while  he  forms  his  purpose  tlie  day  rolls  on,  and  "  the 
nis^ht  cometh  when  no  man  can  work."  Dr.  Johnson* 


SECTION    VII. 

The  unhappiness  resnUing  from  zmrestrained  passioms. 

1.  The  passions  are  those  strong  emotions  of  the  mind, 
which  impel  it  to  desire  and  to  act  with  vehemence.  When 
directed  toward  proper  objects,  and  kept  within  just  bounds, 
thev  possess  a  useful  place  in  our  frame, — they  add  vigor 
and  energv  to  the  mind,  and  enable  it,  on  great  occasions,  to 
act  with  uncommon  force  and  success  .:  but  they  always  re- 
quire the  government  and  restraint  of  reason. 

2.  li  is  in  the  mind  just  as  it  is  in  the  body.  Every  mem 
ber.of  the  body  is  useful,  and  serves  some  good  pmpose.  But 
if  any  one  sv/ell  to  an  enormous  size,  it  presently  becomes  a 
disease.  Thus,  when  a  man's  passions  go  on  in  a  calm  and 
moderate  train,  and  no  object  takes  an  inordinate*"  hold  of 
any  of  them,  his  spirit  is  in  this  part  sound,  and  his  life  pro- 
ceeds with  tran(]uilliry.  But  if  any  of  them  be  so  far  indul 
ged  and  left  without  restraint  as  to  run  into  excess,  a  danger 
ous  blow  will  then  be  given  to  the  heart. 

3.  Supposing,  for  instance,  that  some  passion,  even  of  the 
nature  of  those  which  are  reckoned  innocent,  shall  so  fai- 
seize  a  man,  as  to  conquer  and  overpower  him  ; — his  tranqui. 
lity  will  be  destroyed.  The  balance  of  his  soul  is  lost ;  he  is 
no  longer  his  own  master,  nor  is  capable  of  attending:  prop 
erly  to  the  offices  of  lite  which  are  incumbent*^  on  him.  orO? 
turning  his  thoughts  into  any  other  direction  than  whai  pas- 
sion points  out.  He  may  be  sensible  of  the  wound, — nniy  tee . 
the  dart  that  is  fixed  in'hi^  breast,  hut  is  unable  to  extract  il. 

4.  But  the  case  becomes  infinitely  worse,  if  the  passion 
which  has  seized  a  man  beof'the  vicious  and  malignant''  kind. 
Let  him  be  placed  in  the  most  prosperous  situation  of  life, — 
give  him  external  ease  and  affluence  to  the  full,  and   let  liis 

a  Bpn-fi-fac'-tion,  charital>le  gift.  c  Tn-nun'-bent  impost'd  as  a  duty. 

A  In-or'-ili-nate,  iuitnoderatt;,  excessive,  e/ Ma-lig'-nant.  luaiicious,  virulent. 


54  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    I. 

character  be  high  and  applauded  by  tlie  world, — yet,  if  into 
the  heart  of  this  man  there  has  stolen  sonnedark.  jealous  sub- 
picion, — some  rankling  envy,  some  pining  discontent, — that 
instant  his  temper  is  soured,  and  poison  is  scattered  over  all 
his  joys.  He  dwells  in  secret  upon  his  vexations  and  cares; 
and  wliik  the  crowd  admire  his  prosperity,  he  envies  the 
more  peaceful  condition  of  the  peasant  and  the  hind. 

5.  If  his  passions  chance  to  be  of  the  more  fierce  and  out- 
rageous nature,  the  painful  feelings  they  produce  will  be  still 
more  intense  and  acute.  By  violent  passions  the  heart  is  not 
only  wounded,  but  torn  and  rent.  As  long  as  a  man  is  under 
the  workings  of  raging  ambition,  disappointed  pride,  and 
keen  thirst  for  revenge,  he  re.  oains  under  immediate  torment. 
Over  his  dark  and  scowling  mind,  bloomy  ideas  continually 
brood.  His  transienf^  lits  of  merriment  and  joy,  are  like 
beams  of  light,  breaking  occasionally  from  the  black  clouds 
that  carries  the  thunder.  . 

6.  What  greatly  aggravates  the  misery  of  such  persons,  is, 
that  they  dare  make  no  complaints.  When  the  body  is  dis- 
eased or  wounded,  to  our  friends  we  naturally  fly ;  and  from 
their  sympathy  or  assistance  expect  relief.  IJut  the  wounds 
given  to  the  heart  by  ill-governed  passions,  are  of  an  oppro- 
brious^ nature,  and  must  be  stifled  in  secret.  The  slave  of 
passion  can  unbosom  himself  to  no  friend  ;  and,  instead  of 
sympathy,c  dreads  meeting  with  ridicule  or  contempt. 

Blair. 

SECTION  vm. 
Of  cut  iosity  coiicerning  the  affaii^s  of  others. 

i.  That  idle  curiosity, — that  inquisitive'^  and  meddling 
spirit,  which  leads  men  to  pry  into  the  affairs  of  their  neigh- 
Dors, — is  reprehensible^  on  three  accounts.  It  interrupts  the 
good  order,  and  breaks  the  peace  of  society.  It  brings  for- 
ward and  nourishes  several  bad  passions.  It  draAvs  men  asjde 
from  a  proper  attention  to  the  discharge  of  their  own  duty. 

2.  It  interrupts,  I  say,  the  order,  and  breaks  the  peace  of 
society.  In  this  world  we  are  linked  together  by  many  ties. 
We  are  bound  by  duty,  and  we  are  prompted  by  interest,  to 
give  mutual^  assistance,  and  to  perform  friendly  offices  to 
each  other.  But  those  friendly  offices  are  performed  to  the 
most  advantage,  when  we  avoid  to  interfeie, unnecessarily,  in 
the  concerns  of  our  neighbor.     Every  man  has  his  own  part 

n  Tran'-siem.  passing,  hasty.  d  In-quis'-i-tive,  given  to  inquiry. 

b  Op-pro'-brl-ous,  reproachful,  disgrace-   e  Rop-re  h«.'ii'-&i-ble,  censurable. 

fill.  /"Mu-iu-al,  acthig  in  return. 

c  Sym'-pa-thy  a  fellow  feeling. 


Chap.  III.  didactic  pieces.  55 

to  act — has  his  own  interest  to  consult — has  affairs  of  his 
own  to  manage — which  hisneighhor  has  no  call  to  scrutinize.* 

3.  Human  life  then  })roceeds  in  its  mo>t  natural  and  orderly 
train,  when  every  one  keef)s  within  the  bounds  of  his  proper 
province, — when,  as  long  as  his  pursuits  are  fair  and  lawful, 
he  his  allowed,  without  disturbance,  to  conduct  them  in  his 
own  way.  That  ye  t^tudy  to  be  quiet  and  do  your  own  husi- 
?/r.s\s',  is  the  apo-tolic  rule,  and  indeed  the  great  rule  for  the 
preservation  of  harmony  and  order. 

4.  But  so  it  is,  that  m  every  age  a  set  of  men  have  existed, 
who,  driven  by  an  unhappy  .activity  of  spirit,  oftener,  per- 
haps, than  by  any  settled  design  of  doing  ill,  or  any  motives 
of  ambition  or  interest,  love  to  intermeddle  where  they  have 
no  concern, — to  inquire  into  the  private  affairs  of  others,  and, 
from  the  imperfect  informiation  they  collect,  to  form  conclu- 
sions respecting  tlieir  circumstances  and  character.  These 
are  they  who,  in  Scripture,  are  characterized  as  tattlers  and 
busy  bodies  in  other  men's  matters,  and  from  whom  we  are 
called  to  turn  away. 

5.  Though  persons  of  this  description  should  be  prompted 
by  nothing  but  vain  curiosity,  they  are,  nevertheless,  danger- 
ous troublers  of  the  world.  While  they  conceive  themselves 
to  be  inoffenr^ive,  they  are  sowing  Jissension  and  feuds. ** 
Crossing  the  lines  in  which  others  move,  they  create  confu- 
sion, and  awaken  resentment. — For  every  man  conceives 
himself  to  be  injured,  when  he  finds  another  intruding  into 
his  affairs,  and,  without  any  title,  taking  upon  him  to  exam- 
ine his  conduct.  Being  improperly  and  unnecessarily  dis- 
turbed, he  claims  the  right  of  disturbing,  in  his  turn,  those  who 
have  wantonly  troubled  him. 

6.  Hence  many  a  friendship  has  been  broken  ;  the  peace 
of  many  a  family  has  been  overthrown;  and  much  bitter  and 
lasting»discord  has  been  propagated  through  society.  While 
this  spirit  of  meddling  curiosity,  injures  so  considerably  the 
peace  and  good  order  of  the  Avorld,  it  also  nourishes,  amoi;ig 
individuals  who  are  addicted  to  it,  a  multitude  of  bad  passions. 
Its  most  frequent  source  is  mere  idleness,  which,  in  itself  a 
vice,  never  fails  to  engender  many  vices  more.  The  mind  of 
man  cannot  be  long  without  some  food  to  nourish  the  activity 
of  its  thoughts. 

7.  The  idle  who  have  no  nourishment  of  this  sort  within 
themselves,  feed  their  ihoushts  with  inquiries  into  the  con- 
duct of  their  neiglihors.  The  inquisitive  and  curious  are  al- 
ways talkative.  What  they  learn,  or  fancy  themselves  to 
have  learned,  concerning  others,  they  are  generally  in  haste 

a  Scru'-ti-nize,  to  examine  clobely.  b  Feu.ls,  quarrels,  confcntions. 


5G  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    I; 

to  divulge,*  A  fale  which  the  malieious  have  invented,  and 
the  credulous  have  propagated.^— a  ruroor,  which  arising 
among  the  multitude,  and  transmitted  by  one  to  another  has 
in  every  step  of  its  progress  gained  fresh  additions, — becomes 
in  the  end  the  foundation  of  confident  assertion,  and  of  rash 
and  severe  judgment. 

8.  It  is  often  by  a  spirit  of  jealousy  and  rivalry,  that  the 
researches  of  sucJi  persons  are  prompted.  They  wish  lo  dis- 
cover something  that  will  bring  down  their  neighbor's  cha- 
racter, circumstances,  or  reputation,  to  the  level  of  their  own 
or  that  will  flatter  them  with  an  opinion  of  their  own  supe- 
riority. 

9.  A  secret  malignity  lies  at  the  bottom  of  their  inquiries. 
It  may  be  concealed  by  an  affectf'd  show  of  candor  and  im- 
partiality. It  may  even  be  veiled  with  the  appearance  of  a 
friendly  concern  for  the  interest  of  others,  and  with  affected 
apologies  for  their  failings.  But  the  hidden  rancor  is  easily 
discovered. — Wliile,  therefore,  persons  of  this  description 
trouble  the  peace  of  society,  they  at  the  same  time  poison 
their  own  minds  with  malignant  passions. 

10.  Their  disposition  is  entirely  the  reverse  of  that  amia- 
ble spirit  of  charity,  on  which  our  religion  lays  so  sreat  a 
stress.  Charity  covertth  the  miiitiiade  of  sivs ;  but  this 
prying  and  meddling  spirit  seeks  to  discover  and  divulge  them. 
'.'iiarity  Ihin.ketJi  no  evil ;  but  this  temper  inclines  us  always 
to  sus])ect  the  worst.  Charity  rejoiceth  not  in  iniquity  ;  this 
temper  triumphs  in  the  discovery  of  errors  and  failings.  Cha- 
rity, like  the  sun,  brightens  every  object  upon  w^hich  it  chines: 
a  censorious  dis])Osition  casts  every  character  into  the  dark-  . 
est  shade  it  will  bear. 

11.  To  be  entirely  unemployed  and  idle,  is  the  prerogative 
of  no  one  in  any  rank  of  life.  Even  that  sex,  whose  task  is 
not  to  mingle  in  the  labors  of  public  and  active  business,  have 
their  own  part  assigned  them  to  act.  In  the  quiet  of  domes- 
tic shade,  there  are  a  variety  of  virtues  to  be  exercised,  and 
of  important  duties  to  be  discharged.  Much  depentis  on  them 
fjr  the  maintenance  of  private  economy  and  order, — for  the 
education  of  the  yOung,  and  for  the  relief  and  comfort  of  those 
whose  functions'^  engage  them  in  the  toils  of  the  world. 

12.  Even  \vhere  no  such  female  duties  occur  to  be  perform- 
ed, the  care  of  preparing  for  future  usefulness  and  of  attain- 
ing such  accomplishments  as  procure  just  esteem,  is  laudable.** 
In  such  duties  and  cares,  how  far  better  is  time  employed, 
tha  n  in  that  search  into  private  concerns, — that  circulatioQ  of 


a  Di-\'ulge',  to  discloso,  publish.  c  Func'-tions,  offices,  employments. 

b  Piop'-aga-ted,  generated,  sfiread.      dLaud'-a-ble,  praisewonhy. 


Chap.  III.  DiDACTrc  pieces.  57 

rumors, — those  dfs'cyisioiis  of  the  conductj  and  descants*  on 
the  charHoier  oi"  others  \vhich  engross  conversation  so  much, 
and  which  end,  for  the  most  pari,  in  sev^erity  of  censure. 

13.  In  whatever"  condition  we  are  placed,  to  act  always  in 
character  should  be  our  constant  rule.  He  who  acts  in  cha- 
racter is  above  contempt,  though  his  station  be 'low.  He  wbo 
acts  out  of  character  is  des])icable,  though  his  station  be  ever 
so  high. .  H'hat  is  that  to  thee  what  this  or  that  man  does  ? 
Think  of  what  thou  ought  to  do  tliyself,  or  what  is  suitable 
to  thy  character  and  place, — of  what  the  world  has  a  title  to 
expect  from  thee.  Every  excursion  of  vain  curiosity  about 
others,  is  a  subtraction  from  that  time  and  thought  which  are 
due  to  ourselves,  and  due  to  God. 

14.  In  tlie  great  circle  of  human  affairs,  there  is  no  room  for 
every  one  to  be  busy  and  employed  in  his  own  province, 
\Yithout  encroaching  upon  that  of  others.  Art  thou  poor? — 
Show  thyself  active  and  industrious,  peaceable  and  content- 
ed. Art  thou  wealthy  ? — Show  thyself  beneficent  and  cha- 
ritable, condescending  and  humane.  If  thou  lives:  much  in 
fiie  world,  it  is  thy  duty  to  make  the  light  of  a  good  example, 
shine  conspicuously  be foj:*?"  others. 

15.  There  is,  indeed,  no  man  so  sequesteredb  from  active 
life,  but  within  his  own  narrow  sphere  he  may  find  some  op- 
portunities of  doing  good, — of  cultivating  friendship,  promo- 
ting peace,  and  discharging  many  of  timse  lesser  offices  of 
humanity  and  kindness,  which  are  within  the  reach  of  every 
one,  and  which  we  owe  to  one  another. — In  all  the  various 
relatioiis  which  subsist  among  us  in  life,  as  husband  an^  wife, 
master  and  servant,  parents  and  children,  relations  and 
friends',  innumeral.de  duties  stand  ready  to  be  j)erformed  ; 
innumerable  calls  to  virtuous  activity  present  themselves  on 
every  hand,  sufficient  to  fill  up,  with  advantage  and  honor,  the 
whole  time  of  man.  Btair. 


SECTION    IX. 

The  miseries  of  men  mostly  of  their  own  'procuring. 

1.  As  far  as' inward  disquietude  arises  from  the  stings  of 
conscience,  and  the  horrors  of  guilt,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of 
its  being  st- If-created  misery,  which  it  is  altogether  impossi- 
ble to  impute  to  Heaven.  But  even  wKen  great  crimes  and 
deep  leujorse  are  not  the  occasions  of  torment,  how  often  is 
poison  infused  into  the  most  nourishing  conditions  of  fortune, 
by  th3  follies  and  the  passwns  of  the  prosperous? 

a  Dcs'-cimts,  comiuents,  remarks,     b  iSe-(iues'-tcr-ed,  secluded,  sel  apart* 


5S  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  I. 

2.  We  see  them  peevish  and  restless, — corrupted  with  lux- 
ury, and  enervated"^  by  ease,— impatient  of  the  smallest  dis- 
appointment,— oppressed  with  low  spirits,  and  complaining 
of  every  thing  around  them.  Dare  such  men,  in  tneir  most 
discontented  rnonients,  charge  the  providence  of  Heaven  v/ith 
miseries  of  tlieir  own  procuring  ?  Providence  had  put  into 
their-  hands  the  fairest  opportunity  of  passing  their  lives  with 
comfort.  But  they  themselves  blasted  every  comfort  that 
was  afforded,  and  verified^  the  prediction,  ihat  the  prosperity 
of  fools  shall  destroy  them. 

3.  As  it  is'man's  ow n  foolishness  which  ruins  his  prospe- 
rity, we  must  not  omit  to  remark,  that  it  is  the  same  cause 
which  aggravates  and  hnbitters  his  adversity.  That  you 
suffer  from  the  external  afflictions  of  the  world,  may  often  be 
owing  to  God's  appointment;  but  when  in  the  rnidst  of 
tliese  you  also  suffer  from  the  disorders  of  your  mind  and 
passions,  this  is  owing  to  yourselves;  and  they  are  those  in- 
ward disorders  which  add  the  severest  sting  to  external  af- 
flictions. 

4.  Many  are  the  resources  of  a  good  and  wise  man  under 
the  disasters  of  life.  In  the  midsl  of  them,  it  is  always  in 
his  power  to  enjoy  peace  of  minTf  and  hope  in  God.  Pie 
may  suffer  ;  but  under  suffering  he  will  not  sink,  as  long  as 
all  is  sound  within.  But  when  the  spirit  has  been  wounded 
by  guilt  and  folly,  its  wounds  open  and  bleed  afresh,  upon 
every  blow  that  is  received  from  the  world.  The  mind  be- 
comes sensible  and  sore  to  the  slightest  injuries  of  fortune  ; 
and  5^  small  reverse  is  felt  as  an  insupportable  calamily. 

5.  On  the  whole,  the  farther  you  search  into  human  life, 
and  the  more  you  observe  the  manners  and  the  coixluct  of 
men,  you  will  be  the  more  convinced  of  this  great  truth — 
that  of  the  distresses  which  abound  in  the  world,  we  are  the 
chief  authors.  Among  the  multitudes  who  are  at  this  day 
bewailing  their  condition  and  lot,  it  w^ll  be  found  to  hold  of 
far  the  greater  part,  that  they  are  reaping  the  fruit  of  their 
own  doings. 

C.  Unattainable  objects  foolishly  pursued,  intemperate  pas- 
sions nourished,  vicious  pleasures 'and  desires  indulged, — 
these  are  the  great  scourges  of  the  world, — the  great  causes 
of  the  life  of  man  being  so  embroiled  and  unhappy.  God 
has  ordained  cur  state  on  earth  to  be  a  mixed  and  imperfect 
state.  Vv'e  have  ourselves  to  blame  for  its  becoming  an  in- 
supportable one.  If  it  hring  forth  to  us  nothing  but  vexation 
and  vanity,  we  have  sown  the  seeds  of  that  vanity  and  vexa- 
tion ;  and  as  we  have  sown  we  must  reap. 

a  En-er'-va-ted.  deprived  of  vigor.  b  Ver'-i-fi-ed,  proved  to  be  true 


Chap.  III.  didactic  pieces.  59 

SECTION    X. 

Tlie  Creator's  icorks  attest  his  greatness. 

1.  We  find  ourselves  in  an  immense  universe,*  where  it  is 
impossible  for  us,  without  astonishment  and  awe,  to  contem- 
plate the  glory  and  the  power  of  Him  who  created  it.  From 
the  greatest  to  the  least  object  that  we  behold  ; — from  the  star 
thatirlitters  in  the  heavens  to  the  insect  that  creeps  upon  the 
c^round  ; — from  the  thunder  that  rolls  in  the  skies,  to  the  flower 
that  blossoms  in  the  fields  ;— all  things  testify  a  profound 
and  mysterious^  Wisdom, — a  mighty  and  all  powerful  Hand, 
before  which  we  must  tremble  and  adore. 

2.  Neither  the  causes  nor  the  issues  of  the  events  which 
we  behold,  is  it  in  our  power  to  trace  ;  neither  how  we  canie 
into  this  world,  nor  whither  we  go  when  we  retire  from  it, 
are  we  able  of  ourselves  to  tell  ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  find 
ourselves  surro.unded  Avitli  astonishing  magnificence  on  every 
hand.  We  walk  thioUgh  the  earth  as  through  the  apart- 
ments of  a  vast  palace,  which  fill  every  attentive  spectator 
with  wonder.  Ail  the  works  which  our  power  can  erect, — 
all  the  ornaments  which  olrlirt  can  contrive, — are  feeble  and 
trifling  in  comparison  with  those  glories,  which  nature  every 
where  presents  to  our  view. 

3.  The  immense  arch  of  the  heavens,  the  splendor  of  the 
sun  in  his  meridian'^  brightness,  or  the  beauty  of  his  rising 
and  setting  hours, — the  rich  landscape  of  the  fields,  and  the 
boundless  expanse  of  the  ocean, — are  scenes  Avhich  aiock 
every  rival  attempt  of  human  skill  or  labor.  Nor  is  it  only 
in  the  splendid  appearances  of  nature,  but  amid  its  rudest 
forms  that  we  trace  the  hand  of  the  Divinity.  In  the  solita- 
ry desert  and  the  high  mountain, — in  the  hanging  precipice.^ 
the  roaring  torrent,  and  the  aged  forest, — though  there  be 
nothing  to  cheer,  there  is  much  to  strike  the  mind  with  awe, 
to  give  rise  to  tho-^e  solemn  and  sublime  sensations,  whirh 
elevate  the  heart  to  an  Almighty,  All-creating  Power.— -jB/aiV. 

section  XL 
The  advantages  of  a  taste  for  Natural  History. 

1.  When  a  young  person  who  has  enjoyed  the  benefit  of  a 
liberal  education,  instead  of  leading:  a  life  of  indolence,  dis- 
sipation, or  vice,  employs  himself  in  studying  the  marks  of 
infinite  wisdom  and  goodness,  which  are  manifested  in  every 
part  of  the  visible  creation, — we  know  not  which  we  ought 

a  IP-ni-verse,  the  whole  system  of  creat-    cMc-rlil'-i-an.  midday,  noon. 

pd  things.  d  Prec'-i-pic.e,  a  sleep  descent. 

b  Mys-te'-ri-ous,  not  ea&ily  understood. 


60  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  I. 

must  to  congratulate,*  the   public,  or  tfie  individual.     Self-  \ 
taught  naturalists^  are  often  found  to  make  no  little  progress 
in  iinowiedge,  and  to  strike  out  many  new  lights,  by  the  hiere 
aid  of  original  genius  and  patient  application. 

2.  Bui  the  well  educated  youth  engages 'in  these  pursuits 
with  peculiar  advantage.  He  takes  more  comprehensive. 
views,  is  able  to  consult  a  greater  variety  of  authors,  and, 
from  the  early  habits  of  his  mind,  is  more  accurate  and  mpre 
methodical  in  all  his  investigations.  The  world  at  large, 
therefore,  cannot  fail  to  be  benefited  by  his  labors;  and  the 
value  of  the  enjoyments  which  at  the  same  time  he  secures 
to  himself,  is  beyond  all  calculation. 

3.  No  tedious,  vacant  hour  ever  makes  him  wish  fc-r — he 
knows  not  what; — complain — he  knows  not  why.  Never 
does  a  restless  impatience  at  having  nothing  to  do,  compel 
him  to  seek  a  momentary  stimulus  to  his  dormant  powers  in 
the  tumultuous  pleasures  of  the  intoxicating  cup,  or  the  agi- 
tating suspense  of  the  game  of  chau'^e.  Whether  he  be  at 
home  or  abroad,  in  every  diflferent  clime,  and  in  every  sea- 
son of  the  year,  universal  nature  is  before  him,  and  invites 
him  to  a  banquet,  richly  repleni^l^  with  whatever  can  invig- 
orate^^ bis  understanding,  orgrality  his'  mental  taste. 

4.  The  earth  on  which  he  treads,  the  air  in  which  he  moves, 
the  sea  along  the  margin  of  which  he  walks, — all  teem  with 
objects  that  keep  his  attention  perpetually  awake — excite  him 
to  healthful  activity— and  charm  him  with  an  ever  varying 
succession  of  the  beautiful,  the  wonderful,  the  useful,  and  the 
new.  And  if,  in  conformity  with  the  direct  tendency  of  such 
occupations,  he  rises  from  the  creature  to  the  Creator,  and 
considers  the  duties  Avhich  naturally  result  from  his  own  sit- 
uation and  rank  in  this  vast  system  of  being,  he  will  derive 
ns  much  satisfaction  from  the  anticipation  of  the  future,  as 
from  the  experience  of  the  present,  and  the  recollection  of  the 
past. 

5.  The  mind  of  the  pious  naturalist  is  always  cheerful — 
always  animated  with  the  noblest  and  most  benign'  feelings. 
Every  repeated  observation — every  unexpected  discovery — 
directs  his  thought  to  the  great  Source  of  all  order,  and  all 
good  ;  and  harmonizes  all  his  faculties  with  the  general 
voice  of  nature 


" The  inon 

Whom  nature's  works  can  charm,  with  Ooil  himself 
Hold  converse — gnnv  familiar,  day  hy  day, 
With  his  conct'ptions — act  upon  his  plan, 
And  form  to  his  the  relish  of  their  i»ouls." 

n  Con -« rat -u -late,  to  profess  joy  to.  c  Me-thodMc-al,  regular, 

b  Nat'-u-ral-ists,  p^ersons  versed  in  natu-  d  In-vic'  or-ate.  to  strei'sfthen. 

ral  history.  «  Be-nign',  kind,  generous. 


Chap.  III.  didactic  pieces.  61 


SECTION   XII. 

Necessity  of  Industry^  even  to  Genius. 

1.  From  the  revival  of  learning  to  the  present  day,  every 
thing  that  labor  and  ingenuity  can  invent,  has  been  produced 
to  facilitate''  the  acquisition  of  knowledge.  But,  notwithstand- 
ing all  the  Introductions,  the  Translations,  the  Annotations,** 
and  the  Interpretations,  I  must  assure  the  student,  that  indus- 
try, great  and  persevering  industry,  is  absolutely  necessary 
to  secure  any  very  valuble  and  distinguished  improvement. 
Superficial  qualifications  are  indeed  obtained,  at  an  easy 
price  of  time  and  labor;  but  superficial  qualifications  confer 
neither  honor,  emolument,'^  nor  satisfaction. 

2.  The  pupil  may  be  introduced,  by  the  judgment  and  the 
liberality  of  his  parents,  to  the  best  schools,  the  best  tutors, 
the  best  books  ;  and  his  parents  may  be  led  to  expect,  from 
such  advantages  alone,  extraordinary  advancement.  But 
these  things  are  all  extraneous.'^  The  mind  of  the  pupil 
must  be  accustomed  to  submit  to  labor,  sometimes  to  painful 
labor.  •• 

3.  The  poor  and  solitary  student,  who  has  never  enjoyed 
any  of  these  advantages  but  in  the  ordinary  manner,  will  by 
his  own  application  emerge  to  merit,  fame,  and  fortune  ;  while 
the  indolent,  who  has  been  taught  to  lean  on  the  supports 
which  opulence  supplies,  will  sink  into  insignificance. 

4.  I  repeat,  that  the  first  great  object  is,  to  induce  the  mind 
to  work  within  itself, — to  think  long  and  patiently  on  the 
same  subject,  and  to  compose  in  various  styles,  and  in  Vari- 
ous meters.  It  must  be  led,  not  only  to  bear,  but  to  seek  oc- 
casional solitude.  If  it  is  early  habituated  to  all  these  exer- 
cises, it  will  find  its  chief  pleasure  in  them  ;  for  the  energies 
of  the  mind  affect  it  with  the  finest  feelings. 

5.  But  is  industry,  such  industry  as  I  require,  necessary  to 
genius  ?  The  idea  that  it  is  not  necessary,  is  productive  of 
the  greatest  evils.  We  often  form  a  wrong  judgitient  in  deter- 
mining who  is,  and  who  is  not  endowed  with  this  noble  priv- 
ilege. A  boy  who  appears  lively  and  talkative,  is  often  suppo- 
sed by  his  parents  to  be  a  genius.  He  is  suffered  to  be  idle,  for 
he  is  a  genius  ;  and  genius  is  only  injured  by  application. 

6.  Now  it  usually  happens,  that  the  very  lively  and  talka- 
tive boy  is  the  most  deficient  in  genius.  His  forwardness 
arises  from  a  defect  of  those  fine  sensibilities  which,  at  the 
same  time,  occasion  diffidence,  and  constitute  genius.     He 

a  Fa-cil'-i-rate,  to  make  easy.  c  E-mor^u-tnent,  profit,  gain. 

b  An-no-ta'- lions,  explanatory  notes.        d  Ex-tra'-ne-ous,  foreign,  not  intrinsic. 


62  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   L. 

ought  to  be  inured*  to  literary  labor;  for,  without  it,  he  will  ) 
be   prevented,  by  levity  and  stupidity,  from  receiving  any 
valuable  impressions. 

7.  Parents  and  instructors  must  be  very  cautious  how  they 
dispense  with  diligence,  from  an  idea  that  the  pupil  possesses 
genius  sufficient  to  compensate^  for  the  want  of  it.  All  men 
are  liable  to  mistake  in  deciding  on  genius  at  a  very  early  age; 
but  parents  more  than  all,  from  their  natural  partiality. 

8.  On  no  account,  therefore,  let  them  dispense  with  close 
application.  If  the  pupil  has  genius,  this  will  improve  and 
adpru  it;  if  he  has  not,  it  is  confessedly  requisite  to  supply 
the  defect.  Those  prodigies-  of  genius  w^hich  require  not 
instruction,  are  rare  phenomena:'^  we  read,  and  we  hear  of 
such  ;  but  few  of  us  have  seen  and  known  such. 

9.  What  is  genius  worth  without  knowledge? — But  is  a 
man  ever  born  with  knowledge?  It  is  true  that  one  man  is 
born  with  a  better  capacity  than  another,  for  the  reception 
and  retention  of  ideas;  but  still  the  mind  must  operate  in 
collecting,  arranging,  and  discriminating  those  ideas  which 
It  recf  ives  with  facility.  And  I  believe  the  mind  of  a  genius 
is  often  very  laboriously  at  work,  when  to  the  common  ob- 
server it  appears  to  be  quite  inactive. 

10.  I  most  anxiously  wish  that  a  due  attention  may  be  paid 
to  my  exhortations,  when  I  recommend  great  and  exemplary 
diligence.  All  that  is  excellent  in  learning  depends  upon  it. 
And  how  can  the  time  of  a  boy  or  a  young  man  be  better 
employed  ?  It  cannot  be  more  pleasantly ;  for  I  am  sure, 
that  industry,  by  presenting  a  constant  succession  of  various 
objects,  and  by  precluding  the  listlessness^  of  inaction,  ren- 
ders life  at  all  stages  of  it  agreeable,  and  particularly  so  in 
the  restless  season  of  youth. 

11.  It  cannot  be  more  innocently;  for  learning  has  a  con- 
nexion with  virtue :  and  he,  whose  time  is  fully  engaged, 

.  will  escape  many  vices  and  much,misery.  It  cannot  be  more 
usefully ;  for  he  who  furnishes  his  mind  with  ideas,  and 
strengthens  his  faculties,  is  preparing  himself  to  become  a 
valuable  member  of  society,  whatever  place  in  it  he  may  ob- 
tain ; — and  he  is  likely  to  obtain  an  exalted  place. — Knox. 

SECTION   XIII. 

Religion  the  only  Basis^  of  Society, 

I.  Religion  is  a  social  concern ;  for  it  operates  powerfully 
on  society,  contributing,  in  various  ways,  to  its  stability  and 

a  Iri-u'-red,  hardened  by  use.  d  Phe-nom'-e-na,  appearances, 

b  Oom'-pen-sate,  to  make  amends,     c  List'-less-ness,  indifference,  inattention. 

c  Prod'-igieB,  surprising  things.      / Ba'sis,  foundation,  support. 


j.    Chap.  III.  didactic  pieces.  63 

prosperity.     Religion  is  not  merely  a  private  affair;  the  com- 
j    niunity  is  deeply  interested  in  its  diifasion;*  for  it  is  the  best 
I    support  of  the  virtues  and  principles,  on  which  the  social 
>    order  rests.     Pure  and  undefiled  religion  is,  to  do  good  ;  and 
'    it  follows  very  plainly,  that  if  God  be  the  Author  and  Friend 
of  society,  then  the  recognition''  of  him  must  enforce  all  so- 
cial duty,  and  enlightened  piety  must  give  its  whole  strength 
to  public  order.  , 

2.  Few  men  suspect — perhaps  no  man  comprehends — the 
extent  of  the  support  given  by  religion  to  every  virtue.  No 
man  perhaps  is  aware,  how  much  our  moral  and  social  sen- 
timents are  fed  from  this  fountain,— how  powerless  conscience 
would  become,  without  the  belief  of  a  God, — how  palsied 
would  be  human  benevolence,  were  there  not  the  sense  of  a 
higher  benevolence  to  quicken  and  sustain  it, — how  suddenly 
the  whole  social  fabric  would  quake,  and  with  what  a  fearful 

-  crash  it  would  sink  into  hopeless  ruin, — were  the  ideas  of  a 
supreme  Being,  of  accountableness,  and  of  a  future  life,  to  be 
utterly  erased*^  from  every  mind. 

3.  And,  let  men  thoroughly  believe  that  they  are  the  work 
and  sport  of  chance, — that  no  superior  intelligence  concerns 
itself  with  human  aiiairs, — that  the  weak  have  no  guardian,^ 
and  the  injured  no  avenger,— that  there  is  no  recompense  for 
sacrifices  to  uprightness  and  the  public  good, — that  an  oath 
is  unheard  in  heaven, — that  secret  crimes  have  no  witness 
but  the  perpetrator,^ — that  human  existence  has  no  purpose, 
and  human  virtue  no  unfailing  friend, — that  this  brief  life  is 
every  thing  to  us,  and  death  is  total,  everlasting  extinction, — 
once  let  them  thoroughly  abandon  religion, — and  who  can 
conceive  or  describe  the  extent  of  the  desolation  which  would-, 
follow ! 

4.  We  hope,  perhaps,  that  human  laws  and  natural  sym- 
pathy would  hold  society  together.  AsTeasonably  might  we 
believe,  that  were  the  sun  quenched  in  the  heavens,  our  tor- 
ches would  illuminate,  and  our  fires  quicken  and  fertilize  the 
creation.  What  is  there  in  human  nature  to  awaken  respect* 
and  tenderness,  if  man  is  the  unprotected  insect  of  a  day? — 
And  what  is  he  more  if  atheism*^  be  true? 

5.  Erase  all  fear  and  thought  of  God  from  a  community, 
and  selfishness  and  sensuality  would  absorb  the  whole  man. 
Appetite,  knowing  no  restraint,  and  suffering,  having  no  so- 
lace or  hope,  would  trample  in  scorn  on  the  restraints  of  hu- 

a  Dif-fu-sion,  spreading,  dispersion,     e  Per'-pe-tra-tor,  one  who  does,  or  conv 
b  Re-coc:-ni'-iion.  an  acknowledijment.      iiiif s. 

c  E-ra'-sed,  scratched  oat,  etfaced.       /  A'-the-ism,  disbelief  in  God. 
d  Guard'-i-an,  one  who  has  the  care 
of  another. 


NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   I.    1 

man  laws.  Virtue,  duty,  principle,  Avould  be  mocked  and 
spurned  as  unmeaning  sounds.  A  sordid  self-interest  would 
supplant  every  other  feeling ;  and  man  would  become  in  fact, 
what  the  theory  of  atheism  declares  him  to  be, — a  compan- 
ion for  brutes.  Oianning. 

SECTION    XIV. 

On  the  reasonableness  of  Devotion, 

1.  True  devotion  is  rational,  and  well  founded.  It  takes 
its  rise  from  affections  which  are  essential  to  the  human  frame. 
We  are  formed  by  nature  to  admire  what  is  great,  and  to 
love  what  is  amiable.  Even  inanimate*  objects  have  power 
to  excite  these  emotions.  The  magnificent  prospects  of  the 
natural  world,  fill  the  mind  with  reverential  awe.  Its  beau- 
tiful scenes  create  delight.  When  we  survey  the  actions  and 
behavior  of  our  fellow  creatures,  the  affections  glow  with 
greater  ardor;  and  if  to  be  unmoved  in  the  former  case,  ar- 
gues a  defect  of  sensibility  in  our  powers,  it  discovers  in  the 
latter,  an  odious''  hardness  and  depravity  in  the  heart. 

2.  The  tenderness  of  an  affectionate  parent,  the  generosity 
of  a  forgiving  enemy,  the  public  spirit  of  a  patriot  or  a  hero, 
often  fill  the  eyes  with  tears,  and  sw^ell  the  breast  with  emo- 
tions too  big  for  utterance.  The  object  of  these  affections  is 
frequently  raised  above  us  in  condition  and  rank.  Let  us 
suppose  him  raised  also  abov^  us  in  nature.  Let  us  imagine 
that  an  angel,  or  any  being  of  superior  order,  had  conde- 
scended to  be  our  friend,  our  guide,  and  patron  :  no  person, 
sure,  would  hold  the  exaltation  of  his  benefactor's  character, 
to  be  an  argument  why  he  should  love  and  revere  him  less. 

3.  Strange  !  that  the  attachment  and  veneration,  the  warmth 
and  overflowing  of  heart,  which  excellence  and  goodness  on 
every  other  occasion  command,  should  begi«  to  be  account- 
ed irrational,  as  soon  as  the  Supreme  Being  becomes  their 

•  object.  For  what  reason  must  human  sensibility  be  extinct 
toward  him  alone?  Are  all  benefits  entitled  to  gratitude, 
except  the  highest  and  the  best?  Shall  goodness  cease  to  be 
amiable,  only  because  it  is  perfect? 

4.  It  will  perhaps  be  said,  that  an  unknown  and  invisible 
being  is  not  qualified  to  raise  affection  in  the  human  heart. 
Wrapt  up  in  the  mysterious  obscurity  of  his  nature,  he  es- 
capes our  search,  and  affords  no  determinate  object  to  our 
love  or  desire.  We  go  forward,  but  he  is  not  there, — and 
backwar4,  but  we  cannot  perceive  him, — on  the  left  hand, 

a  In-an'-i-mate,  void  of  life.  b  O'-di-ous,  very  offensive,  hateful 


Chap.  III.  didactic  pisces.  65 

where  he  worketh,  but  we  cannot  beho.d  him  :  he  nideth 
himself  on  the  right  hand,  that  we  cannot  see  him. 

5.  Notwithstanding  this  obscurity,  is  there  any  being  in  the 
universe  more  real  and  certain,  than  the  Creator  of  the  world, 
and  the  Supporter  of  all  existence  ?  Is  he  in  whom  we  live 
and  move,  too  distant  from  us  to  excite  devotion  ?  His  form 
and  essence,  indeed,  we  cannot  see  ;  but  to  be  unseen  and 
imperfectly  known  in  many  other  instances,  precludes*  nei- 
ther gratitude  nor  love.  It  is  not  the  sight  so  much  as  the 
strong  conception,  or  deep  impression  of  an  object,  which 
affects  the  passions. 

6.  We  glow  with  admiration  of  personages  who  have  li- 
ved in  a  distant  age.  Whole  nations  have  been  transported 
with  zeal  and  affection  for  the  generous  hero,  or  public  de- 
liverer, whom  they  knew  only  by  fame.  Nay,  properly 
speaking,  the  direct  object  of  our  love  is  in  every  case  invi- 
sible; for  that  on  which  affection  is  placed  is  the  mind,  the 
soul,  the  internal  character  of  our  fellow  creatures, — which, 
surely,  is  no  less  concealed  than  the  Divine  Nature  itself  is 
from  the  view  of  sense. 

7.  From  actions,  we  can  only  infer  the  dispositions  of  men ; 
from  what  we  see  of  their  behavior,  we  collect  what  is  invi- 
sible; but  the  conjecture  which  we  form  is  at  best  imperfect ; 
and  when  their  actions  excite  our  love,  much  of  their  heart 
remains  still  unknown. 

8.  I  ask,  then,  in  what  respect  God  is  less  qualified  than 
any  other  being,  to  be  an  object  of  affection?  Convinced 
that  he  exists  ;  beholding  his  goodness  spread  abroad  in  his 
works — exerted  in  the  government  of  the  world — displayed 
in  some  measure  to  sense,  in  the  actions  of  his  Son  Jesus 
Christ, — are  we  not  furnished  with  every  essential  requisite 
which  the  heart  demands,  in  order  to  indulge  the  most  warm, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  most  rational  emotions. 

9.  If  these  considerations  justify  the  reasonableness  of  de- 
votion, as  expressed  in  veneration,  love,  and  gratitude,  the 
same  train  of  thought  will  equally  justify  it  when  appearing 
m  th-e  forms  of  desire,  delight,  or  resignation.  The  latter 
are  indeed  the  consequence  of  the  former.  For  we  cannot 
but  desire  some  communication  with  what  we  love ;  and  will 
naturally  resign  ourselves  to  one,  on  whom  we  have  placed 
the  full  confidence  of  afiection.  The  aspirations  of  a  devout 
man  after  the  favor  of  God,  are  the  effects  of  that  earnest 
wish  for  happiness  which  glows  in  every  breast. 

10.  All  men  have  somewhat  that  may  be  called  the  object 
of  their  devotion — reputation,  pleasure,  learning,  riches,  or 

a  Pre-cludes',  hinders,  prevents. 

5 


66  NEW    EXUILSH    READER.  PaKT  I. 

whatever  apparent  good  has  strongly  attached  their  heart. 
This  becomes  the  centerofattraciion,  which  draws  them  to- 
wards it, — which  quickens  and  regulates  ail  their  motions. 
While  the  men  of  the  world  are  thus  influenced  by  the  ob- 
jects which  they  severally  worship,  shall  he  only,  who  directs 
all  his  devotion  toward  the  Supreme  Being,  be  excluded  from 
a  place  i^i  the  system  of  rational  conduct?  Blair 


'j^A 


.f 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DESCRIPTIVE  PIECES. 
SECTION    r. 


Character  of  Washington. 

1.  It  is  natural  that  the  gratitude  of  mankind  should  be 
drawn  to  their  benefactors.  A  number  of  these  have  succes- 
sively arisen,  who  were  no  less  distinguished  for  the  eleva- 
tion of  their  virtues,  than  the  luster  of  their  talents.  Of  those. 
however,  who  were  born,  and  v/ho  acted  through  life  as  if 
they  were  born,  not  for  themselves,  but  for  their  country,  and 
the  whole  human  race,  how  lev/,  alas  I  are  recorded  on  the 
long  annals^  of  ages,  and  how  wide  the  intervals  of  time  and 
space  that  divide  them. 

2.  In  all  this  dreary  length  of  way,  they  appear  like  five 
or  six  light-houses  on  as  many  thousand  miles  of  coast :  they 
gleam  upon  the  surrounding  darkness  Avith  an  inextinguish- 
able splendor — like  stars  seen  through  a  mist;  but  they  are 
seen  like  stars,  to  cheer,  to  guide,  and  to  save.  Washington 
IS  now  added  to  that  small  number.  Already  he  attracts  cu- 
riosity ike  a  newly  discovered  star,  whose  benign^  light 
will  travel  on  to  the  world's  and  time's  farthest  bounds.  Al- 
ready his  name  is  hung  up  by  history,  as  conspicuously  as  if 
it  sparkled  in  one  of  the  constellations*'  of  the  sky. 

3.  The  best  evidence  of  reputation  is  a  man's  whole  life. 
We  have  now,  alas  !  all  Washington's  before  us.  There  has 
scarcely  appeared  a.  really  great  man,  whose  character  has 
been  more  admired  in  his  life  time,  or  less  correctly  undei- 
stood  by  his  admirers.  When  it  is  comprehended,  it  is  no 
easy  task  to  delineate'^  its  excellencies  in  such  a  manner,  as 
to  give  to  the  portrait  both  interest  and  resemblance  :  for  it 
requires  thought  and  study  to  understand  the  true  ground  of 

*  An'-nals,  histories  digested  under  c  Con-steMa'-tions,  clusters  of  stars 

years.  d  Da-lin'  s-ate,  to  descrioe. 

6Be-nign'  kind,  generous. 


Chap.  IV.  descriptive  pieces.  67 

the  superiority  of  his  character,  over  many  others  whom  he 
resembled  in  the  principles  of  action,  and  even  in  the  man- 
ner of  acting. 

4.  But  perhaps  he  excels  all  the  great  men  that  ever  lived, 
in  the  steadiness  of  his  adherence  to  his  maxims  of  life,  and 
in  the  uniformity  of  all  his  conduct  to  the  same  maxims. 
These  maxims,  though  wise,  were  yet  not  so  remarkable  for 

,  their  wisdom,  as  for  their  authority  over  his  life :  for  if  there 

•  were  any  errors  in  his  judgment,  we  know  of  no  blemishes 

in  liis  virtue.    He  was  the  patriot  without  reproach  :  he  loved 

his  country  well  enough  to  hold  his  success  in  serving  it  an 

ample  recompense. 

5.  Thus  far,  self-love  and  love  of  country  coincide'd  :*  but 
when  his  country  needed  sacrifices  that  no  other  man  could, 
or  perhaps  would  be  willing  to  make,  he  did  not  even  hesi- 
tate.    This  was  virtue  in  its  most  exalted  character.     More 

.  than  once  he  put  his  fame  at  hazard,  when  he  had  reason  to 
think  it  would  be  sacrificed,  at  least  in  this  age. 

6.  It  is  indeed  almost  as  difficult  to  draw  his  character,  as 
the  portrait  of  virtue.  The  reasons  are  similar  :  our  ideas  of 
moral  excellence  are  obscure,  because  they  are  complex,^  and 
we  are  obliged  to  resort  to  illustrations.  Washington's  ex- 
ample is  the  happiest  to  show  what  virtue  is  ;  and  to  deline- 
ate his  character,  we  naturally  expatiate'^  on  the  beauty  of 
virtue  : — much  must  be  felt,  and  much  imagined.  His  pre- 
eminence is  not  so  much  to  be  seen  in  the  display  of  any  one 
virtue  as  in  the  possession  of  them  all,  and  in  the  practice  of 
the  most  difficult.  Hereafter,  therefore,  his  character  must 
be  studied  before  it  will  be  striking;  and  then  it  wall  be  ad- 
mitted as  a  model — a  precious  one  to  a  free  republic ! 

7.  It  is  no  less  difficult  to  speak  of  his  talents.  They  were 
adapted  to  lead,  without  dazzling  mankind  ;  and  to  draw 
forth  and  employ  the  talents  of  others,  without  being  misled 

\by  them.  In  this  he  was  certainly  superior,  that  he  neither 
jmistook  nor  misapplied  his  own. — His  great  modestv  and 
j  reserve  would  have  coi>cealed  them,  if  great  occasions  had 
f  not  called  them  forth ;  and  then,  as  he  never  spoke  from  the 
'  atfectation  to  shine,  nor  acted  from  any  sinister  motives,  it  is 

from  their  effiicts  only  that  w^e  are  to  judge  of  their  greatness 

and  extent. 

8.  In  public  trusts,  where  men  acting  conspicuously  are 

cautious,  and  in  those  private  concerns  where  few  conceal  or 

resist  their  weaknesses,  Washington  was  uniformly  great, 

pursuing  right  conduct  from  right  maxims.  His  talents  were 

such  as  assist  sound  judgment,  and  ripen  with  it. 

a  Co-in-ci'-ded,  '•greeo,  concurred.  c  Ex-pa''ti-atej  to  wander,  enlarge, 

it-oin'-o'  X,  cotuuoanded.  complicated 


68  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT 

9.  His  prudence  was  consummate,*  and  seemed  to  taif 
the  direction  of  his  powers  and  passions;   for,  as  a  soldie 
he  Avas  more  solicitous  to  avoid  mistakes  that  would  be  fata 
than  to  perform  exploits  that  were  brilliant ;  and,  as  a  states 
man,  to  adhere  to  just  principles,  however  old,  than  to  pursue 
novelties;  and  therefore  in  both  characters  his  qualities  were 
singularly  adapted  to  the  interest,  and  were  tried  in  the 
greatest  perils  of  the  country.     His  habits  of  inquiry  were 
so  far  remarkable,  that  he  was  never  satisfied  with  investi 
gating,  nor  desisted  from  it,  so  long  as  he  had  less  than  all 
the  light  that  he  could  obtain  upon  a  subject;  and  then  he 
made  his  decision  without  bias. 

]«0.  This  command  over  the  partialities  that  so  generally 
stop  men  short,  or  turn  them  aside  in  their  pursuit  of  truth, 
is  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  his  unvaried  course  of  right 
conduct  in  so  many  difficult  scenes,  where  every  human 
actor  must  be  presumed  to  err.  If  he  had  strong  passions, 
he  had  learned  to  subdue  them,  and  to  ^e  moderate  and  mild. 
If  he  had  weaknesses,  he  concealed  them, — which  is  rare, — 
and  excluded  them  from  the  government  of  his  temper  aad 
conduct, — which  is  still  more  rare. 

11.  If  he  loved  fame  he  never  made  improper  compliances^ 
for  what  is  called  popularity.  The  fame  he  enjoyed  is  of  the 
kind  that  will  last  for  ever;  yet  it  was  rather  the  effect,  than 
the  motive  of  his  conduct. — Some  future  Plutarch'  will 
search  for  a  parallel  to  his  character-  Epaminondas**  is  per- 
haps the  brightest  name  of  all  antiquity.  Our  Washington 
resembled  him  in  the  purity  and  ardor  of  his  patriotism; 
and,  like  him,  he  first  exalted  the  glory  of  his  country. 

12.  There,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  the  parallel  ends :  for  Thebes'^ 
fell  with  Epaminondas.  But  such  comparisons  cannot  be 
pursued  far,  without  departing  from  the  similitude.  Forwc 
shall  find  it  as  difficult  to  compare  great  men  as  great  rivers : 
some  we  admire  for  the  length  and  rapidity  of  their  current, 
and  the  grandeur  of  their  cataracts;  others  for  the  majestic 
silencft  and  fullness  of  their  streams:  w^e  cannot  bring  them 
together  to  measure  the  difference  of  their  waters. 

13.  The  unambitious  life  of  Washington,  declining  fame, 
yet  courted  by  it,  seemed,  like  the  Ohio,  to  choose  its  long 
way  tlirough  solitudes,  diffusing  fertility;  or  like  his  own 
Potomac,  widening  and  deepening  his  channel  as  he  ap- 
proaches the  sea,  and  displaying  most  the  usefulness  and 
serenity  of  his  greatness  toward  the  end  of  his  course.     Such 

oCon-sum'-mate,   complete,    accom-  cPlu'-tarch,  a  celebrated  Greek  his- 

plisned.  torian. 

6Com-pli'-an-ces,  yielding  to  what  is  <2E-pam-i-non'-das,  a  Grecian  general. 

desired.  e  Thebe*;,  a  city  in  Giicecc. 


Chap.  IV.  descriptive  pieces.  69 

a  citizen  would  do  honor  to  any  country,  and  the  constant 
veneration  and  affection  of  his  country,  will  show  that  it 
was  worthy  of  such  a  citizen.  Ames, 

SECTION  ^n. 

The  Grave  of  Jefferson. 

1.  I  ASCEiNDED  the  winding  road  which  leads  from  Char- 
lottsville  to  Monticello,  up  the  miniature*  mountain  to  the 
farm  and  the  grave  of  Jefferson.  On  entering  the  gate 
which  opens  into  the  enclosure,  numerous  paths  diverge** 
in  various  directions,  winding  through  beautiful  groves  to 
the  summit  of  the  hill.  From  the  peak  on  which  the  house 
stands,  a  grand  and  nearly  unlimited  view  opens  to  the 
thickly  wooded  hills  and  fertile  valleys  which  stretch  out  on 
either  side.  The  University  with  its  dome,  porticos,  and 
colonnade,  looks  like  a  fair  city  in  the  plain:  Charlottsville 
seems  to  be  directly  beneath. 

2.  No  spot  can  be  imagined  as  combining  greater  advan- 
tages of  grandeur,  healthfulness,  and  seclusion. — The  house 
is  noble  in  its  appearance:  two  large  columns  support  a  por- 
tico, which  extends  from  the  wings,  and  into  it  the  front  door 
opens;.  The  apartments  are  neatly  furnished,  and  embellish- 
ed v/iih  statues,  bu>ts,  portraits,  and  natural  curiosities.  The 
grounds  and  uuthou.>es  have  been  neglected;  Mr.  Jefferson's  at-  ' 
tentiun  having  been  absorbed  from  such  personal  concerns,  by 
the  cares  attendant  on  the  superintendence  of  the  University. 

3.  At  a  short  distance  behind  the  mansion,  in  a  quiet, 
shaded  spot,  the  visitor  sees  a  square  enclosure,  surrounded 
by  a  low,  unmortared  stone  wall,  which  he  enters  by  a  neat 
wooden  gate.  This  is  the  family  burial  ground,  containing 
ten  or  fifteen  graves,  none  of  them  marked  by  epitaphs,  and 
only  a  few  distinguished  by  any  memorial.  On  one  side  of 
this  simple  cemetery, *=  is  the  resting  place  of  the  patriot  and 
philosopher  When  I  saw  it,  the  vault  had  just  been  arche* 
and  in     ^diness  for  the  plain  stone  which  was  to  cover  it. 

4.  May  it  ever  continue,  like  Washington's,  without  any 
adventitious**  attractions  or  conspicuousness;  for  when  we 
or  our  posterity  need  any  other  memento'  of  cur  debt  o' 
honor  to  those  names,  than  their  simple  inscription  on  paper 
gorgeous''  tombs  would  be  a  mockery  to  their  memories. 
When  gratitude  shall  cease  to  concentrate  their  remembrance 
in  the  hearts  of  our  citizens,  no  cenotaph'  will  inspire  the 
-ftverence  we  owe  to  them. 

a  Min'-i-a-turo.  sniaU.  likriiess.  e  Me-mcn'-to,  a  hint  to  awaken  mem* 

b  Di-ver^'e',  to  depart  from  a  f)oint.  ory. 

c  Cem'-e-te-ry,  a  place  for  the   burial  /Gor'-ge-ons,  showy,  (B;littering. 

oftliedead.  ^  Cen'-o-taph,  a  monument    for   on# 

dAd    en-ri"-tious,  accidental.  buried  elsewhere 


70  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  I. 


\ 


SECTION    III. 


The  last  days  of  Herculaneum.*- 

1.  A  GREAT  city,  situated  amidst  all  that  nature  could 
create  of  beauty  and  profusion,  or  art  collect  of  science  and 
magnificence, — the  growth  of  many  ages. — the  residence  of 
•enlightened  multitudes, — the  scene  of  splendor,  and  festivity, 
and  happiness, — in  one  moment  withered  as  by  a  spel),''— 
its  palaces,  its  streets,  its  temples,  its  gardens,  '^glowing 
with  eternal  spring,"  and  its  inhabitants  in  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  all  life's  blessings,  obliterated*^  from  their  very  place 
in  creation, — not  hy  war,  or  famine,  or  disease,  or  any  of  the 
natural  causes  of  destruction  to  which  earth  had  been  accus- 
tomed,— but  in  a  single  night,  as  if  by  magic, '^  and  amid  the 
conflagration,  as  it  were,  of  nature  itself, — presented  a  subject 
on  which  the  wildest  imagination  might  grow  weary,  without 
even  equaling  the  grand  and  terrible  reality. 

2.  The   eruption^   of   Vesuvius,  by  which  Herculaneum 
and  Pompeii  were  overwhelmed,  has  been  chiefly  described  I 
lu  us  in  the  letter:,  of  Pliny  the  younger  to  Tacitus,  giving? 

j  an  account  of  his  "iicle's  fate,  and  the  situation  of  the  writer 
•  and  his  mother.  The  elder  Pliny  had  just  returned  from 
^  the  bath,  and  was  retired  to  his  study,  when  a  small  speck 
I  or  cloud,  which  seemed  to  ascend  from  Mount  Vesuvius, 
I  attracted  his  attention. 

'^'  3.  This  cloud  gradually  increased,  and  at  length  assumed 

the  shape  of  a  pine  tree,  the  trunk  of  earth  and  vapor,  and 

the  leaves,  "red  cinders."     Pliny  ordered  his  galley, f  and, 

urged  by  his  philosophic  sj)irit,  went  forward  to  inspect  the 

phenomenon.     In  a  short  time,  however,  philosophy  gave 

"    way  to  humanity,  and  he  zealously  and  adventurously  em- 

^  ployed   his  galley,  in  saving  the  inhabitants  of  the  various 

I    Deautiful    villas    which    studded    that    enchanting    coast. 

Among   others    he   went   to   the   assistance   of  his    friend 

Pomponianus,  who  was  then  at  S'trabise. 

r     4.  The  storm  of  tire,  and  the  tempest  of  earth,  increased  ; 

I  and  the  wretched  inhabitants  were  obliged,  by  the  continual 

/  rocking  of  their  houses,  to  rush  out  into  the  fields  Avith  pil- 

j    *ows  tied  down   by  napkins  upon  their  heads,  as  their  sole 

I    defense  against  the  shower  of  stones  which  fell  on   them. 

I    This,  in  the  course  of  nature,  was  in  the  middle  of  the  day  ; 

j    but  a  deeper  darkness  than  that  of  a  winter  night  had  closed 

a  Her-cu-la'-ne-om,  a  city  in  Italy.  rfMag'-ic,  dealing  with  spirits. 

6  Snell,  a  charm.  e  E-riip'-tion,  a  breakitj<f  forth. 

c  ^^b-Ut'-e-iated,  blotted  out,  destroyed.    /  Gal'-ley,  a  kind  of  vesse' 


Chap.  IV.  descriptive  pieces.  71 

/fironnd  the  ill-fated  inmates  of  Herculaneum.  This  artificial 
darkness  continued  for  three  days  and  nights,  and  when,  at 
length,  the  sun  again  appeared  over  the  s]>ot  where  Hercula- 
neum stood,  his  rays  fell  upon  an  ocean  of  lava  ! 

5.  There  was  neither  tree,  nor  shruh,  nor  field,  nor  house, 
nor  living  creature;  nor  visible  remnant  of  what  human 
hands  had  reared, — there  was  nothing  to  he  seen  but  one 
black  extended  surAice,  still  streaming  with  mephitic*  vapor, 
and  heaved  into  calcined^'  waves  by  the  operation  of  fire,  and 
the  undulations'^  of  the  earthquake!  Pliny  was  found  dead 
upon  the  sea-shore,  stretched  upon  a  cloth  which  had  been 
spread  for  him,  where  it  was  conjectured  he  had  perished 
early,  his  corpulent  and  apoplectic  habit  rendering  him  an 
easy  prey  to  the  suffocating  atmosphere. 

SECTION    IV. 

Passage  of  the  Potomac  and  Shenandoah  Rivers  through 
the  Blue  Ridge. 

1.  The  passage  of  the  Potomac  tlirough  the  Blue  Ridge, 
is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  stupendous  scenes  in  nature. 
You  stand  on  a  very  high  point  of  land.  On  your  right 
comes  up  the  Shenandoah,  having  ranged  along  the  foot  of 
the  mountain  a  hundred  miles  to  seek  a  vent.  On  your  left 
approaches  the  Potomac,  in  quest  of  a  passage  also.  In  the 
moment  of  their  junction  they  rush  togetiier  against  the 
mountain,  rend  it  asunder,  and  pass  off  to  the  sea. 

2.  The  first  gkmce  of  this  scene  hurries  our  senses  into 
the  opinion,  that  this  earth  has  been  created  in  time ;  that  the 
mountains  were  formed  first ;  that  the  rivers  began  to  flow 
afterwards;  that,  in  this  place  particularly,  they  have  been 
dammed  up  by  the  Blue  Ridge  of  mountains,  and  have  form- 
ed an  ocean  which  filled  the  whole  vallev ;  that,  continuing 
to  rise,  they  have  at  length  broken  over  at  this  spot,  and 
have  torn  the  mountain  down  from  its  summit  to  its  base. 
The  piles  of  rock  on  each  hand,  particularly  the  Shenan-  - 
doah, — the  evident  marks  of  their  disrupture  and  avulsion^ 
fron;  their  beds,  by  the  most  powerful  agents  of  nature,  cor- 
roborate this  impression. 

^  3.  But  the  distant  finishing  which  nature  has  given  to  the 
picture,  is  of  a  very  different  character.  It  is  a  true  con- 
trast to  the  foreground.  That  is  as  placid  and  delightful, 
as  this  is  wild  and  tremendous.  The  mountain  being  cloven 
asunder,  presents  to  your  eye,  through  the  cleft,  a  small  catch 

rt  Me^phit'-ic.  poisonoiis,  noxi(iiJS.  c  Un-dnla'-fions.  wavin<i  mofions. 

b  Cdl'-ciu-ed,  reiluced  to  a  powder  by  d  A-vul'sion,  a  pulling  one  irom  another. 
heaL 


72  ^'^W    EN    LISH    READER.  PaRT    I. 

of  smooth  blue  horizon,*  at  311  iiifmiie  distance  in  the  plain 
country,  inviting  you  as  it  were  troni  ilie  riot  and  tumult 
roaring  round,  to  pass  through  the  breach,  and  participate  of 
the  calm  below. 

4.  Here  the  eye  ultimately  composes  itself;  and  that  way, 
too,  the  road  happens  actually  to  lead.  You  cross  the  Po- 
tomac above  the  junciiun,''  pass  along  its  side  through  the 
base  of  the  mountain  for  three  miles, — its  terrible  precipices 
hanging  in  fragments  over  you.  This  scene  is  wurth  a 
voyage  across  ilie  Atlantic;  yet  here,  as  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  Natural  Bridge,  are  people  who  have  passed  their  lives 
within  half  a  dozen  miles,  and  have  never  been  to  survey 
these  monuments  of  a  war  between  rivers  and  mountains, 
which  must  have  shaken  the  earth  itself  to  its  center. 

Jefferson. 

SECTION   v. 

The  Egyptian  Pyramids. 

1.  The  pyramids  of  Egypt  are  well  entitled  to  a  place, 
among  the  most  interesting  curiosities  in  the  world.  The 
principal  ones  stand  opposite  Cairo,^  on  the  west  si<le  of  tlie 
river  Nile.  They  are  built  of  stones,  which  overleap  each 
other,  and  thus  form  stpps  from  the  bottom  to  the  top.  Tiie 
perpendicular  height  of  the  large.-^t  is  about  500  feet,  and 
the  area'^  of  its  baae  contains  nearly  500,000  square  feet,  or 
something  more  than  eleven  English  acres  of  ground. 
Some  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  cost  and  labor  in  the  struc- 
ture of  this  pyramid,  from  the  fact  that  thirty  years  were 
speivt  in  building  it,  and  that  100,000  men  were  con.^tantly 
employed  on  tlie  work. 

2.  Such  were  the  famous  Egyptian  pyramids,  which  by 
their  figure  as  well  as  size  have  triumphed  over  the  injuries 
of  time  and  the  barbarians.  But  whatever  efforts  men  make, 
their  own  nothingness  will  always  ajipear.  These  pyramids 
were  tombs  ;  and  there  is  still  to  be  seen,  in  the  middle  y}{  the 
largest,  an  empty  sepulchre,'  cut  out  of  entire  stone,  about 
three  feet  deep  and  broad,  and  a  little  above  six  feet  long. 

3.  Thus,  all  this  bustle,  all  this  expense,  and  ail  the  labor 
t^f  so  many  thousar^d  men,  ended  in  procuring  a  prin»;e.  in 
this  vast  and  almost  boundless  [)ile  of  buildings,  a  little 
vault, six  feet  in  length.  Besides,  the  kings  who  built  these 
pyramids  had  it  not  in  their  power  to  be  buried  in  them,  Hnd 

a  H6-ri'-zon,  the  line  which  bounds  the        c  Ca-i'-ro,  a  city  in  Eirypt 

Bight.  1/ A're-a.  tlie  superticiiil  conten. 

I  Janc'-tJt'M.  ac!  of  joining,  union.  t  Ssep'-ul-cher,  a  ^Tave,  a  tomb 


Chap.  IV.  descriptive  pieces.  73 

so  did  not  enjoy  the  sepulcher  tliey  had  huilt.  The  public 
hatred  which  they  incurretl  by  reason  of  their  unheard  ot' 
crauliies  to  their  subjects,  in  layini^  such  heavy  tasks  upon 
them,  occasioned  their  beini^  interred  in  some  obscure  place, 
to  prevent  their  bodies  from  being  exposed  to  the  fury  and 
vengeance  of  the  populace. 

4.  This  last  circumstance,  of  which  historians  have  taken 
particular  noti-ce,  teaches  us  what  judgment  we  ought  to  pass 
on  these  edifices,*  so  much  boasted  of  by  the  ancients.  It  is 
but  just  to  remark  and  esteem  the  noble  genius  which  the 
Egyptians  had  for  architecture,*' — a  genius  that  prompted 
the  n  from  the  earliest  times,  and  before  they  could  have  any 
models  10  imitate,  to  aim  in  all  things  at  the  grand  and  mag- 
nificent;  and  to  be  ntent  on  real  beauties,  without  deviating 
in  the  least  from  a  noble  simplicity,  in  which  the  highest 
perfection  of  the  art  consists. 

5.  But  what  idea  ought  w^e  to  form  of  those  princes,  who 
considered  as  something  grand,  the  raising,  by  a  multitude  of 
hands  and  by  the  help  of  money,  immense  structures,  with 
the  sole  view  of  rendering  their  names  immortal;  and  who 
did  not  scruple  to  destroy  thou-ands  of  their  subjects  to  satis- 
fy tlieir  vain  glory  !  Thev  differed  very  much  from  the  Ro- 
mans, who  sought  to  immortalize  themselves  by  works  of  a 
magnificent  kind,  but  at  the  same  time  of  public  utility. 

6.  Pliny  gives  us,  in  a  few  words,  a  just  idea  of  these  py- 
ramids when  he  calls  them  a  foolish  and  useless  ostentation*^ 
of  the  wealth  of  Egvi)tian  kings;  and  adds,  that  by  a  just 
punishment  their  memory  i>  buried  in  oblivion — historians 
not  agreeing  among  themselves  about  the  names  of  those 
who  first  raised  those  vain  monuments.  In  a  word,  accord- 
ing tu  the  judicious  remark  of  Diodorus,  the  industry  of  the 
architects  of  those  pvramids  is  no  less  valuable  and  praise- 
wortiiy,  than  the  design  of  the  Egyptian  kings  contemptible 
and  ridiculous. 

7.  But  what  we  should  most  admire  in  these  ancient  mo- 
numents, is,  the  true  and  sta*nding  evidence  they  give  of  the 
skill  of  the  Eiryptians  in  Astronomy  ;'*  that  is  a  science  which 
seems  incapable  of  being  hrouirht  to  perfection  but  by  a  long 
series"  of  years,  and  a  <rreat  number  of  observations.  It  has 
been  found,  that  the  four  sides  of  the  ureat  pyramid  named, 
were  turned  exactly  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  world;  and 
consequently  showed  the  true  meridian  of  that  place. 

8.  As  so  exact  a  situation  was  in  all  probability  purposely 

fl  Ed' i-fi-ces,  baildiiijfs.  d  Astron'-o-iiiy,  the   science  of  the 

b  Arch'-i-t'^cl-iue.  the  science  of  buildinff.     hravenly  bodieK. 
e  Os-lent-a'tion,  vain  show.  e  8»^'-n-es,  a  connected  succession  of 

hings. 


74  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    I. 

pitched  upor  by  those  who  piled  up  this  huge  mass  of  stones, 
above  three  thousand  years  ago;  it  folh^ws.  that  durinar  so 
long  a  space  of  time  there  has  been  no  alteration  in  the  hea- 
vens in  that  respect,  or,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  in 
the  poles  of  the  earth  or  the  meridians. 

SECTlOxN    VI. 

Of  the  Foriim,^  and  other  fuhlic  Buildings  at  Bcnne. 

1.  The  Roman  Forum  now  lay  extended  before  us — a  scene 
in  the  ages  of  Roman  greatness  of  unparalleled  splendor  and 
magnificence.  It  was  bordered  on  both  sides  with  temples, 
and  lined  with  statues.  It  terminated  in  triumphal  arches; 
and  was  bounded,  here  by  the  Palatine  hill,  v/iih  the  imperi- 
al* residence  glittering  on  its  summit,  and  there  by  the  Ca- 
pitol, with  its  ascending  ranges  of  porticos  and  of  temples. 

2.  Thus  it  presented  one  of  the  richest  exhibitions  thnt 
eyes  could  behold,  or  human  ingenuity  invent.  In  the  midst 
of  these  superb  monuments, — the  memorial  of  their  great- 
ness, and  tlie  trophies^  of  their  fathers, — the  Roman  people 
assembled  to  exercise  their  sovereign  power,  and  to  decide 
the  fates  of  heroes,  of  kings,  and  of  nations. 

3.  Nor  did  the  contemplation  of  such  glorious  objects  fail 
to  produce  a  corresponding  effect.  Manlius,  as  long  as  he 
could  extend  his  arm  and  fix  the  attention  of  the  people  on 
the  Capitol  which  he  had  saved,  suspended  his  fatal  sentence. 
Caius  Gracchus  melted  the  hearts  of  his  audience,  Avlien  in 
the  moment  of  distress  he  pointed  to  the  Capitol,  and  asked 
w^ith  all  the  emphasis  of  despair,  whether  he  could  expect  to 
find  an  asylum'^  in  that  sanctuary,  whose  pavements  still 
streamed  with  the  blood  of  his  brother. 

4.  Scipio  x'^fricanus,  when  accused  by  an  envious  faction, '^ 
and  obliged  to  appear  before  the  people  as  a  criminal,  instead 
of  answering  the  charge,  turned  to  the  Capitol,  and  invited 
the  assembly  to  accompany  him  to  the  temple  of  Jui)iler,« 
and  to  give  thanks  to  the  Gods  for  the  defeat  of  Annibal  and 
the   Carthaginians. 

5.  Such,  in  fact,  w^as  the  influence  of  locality,  and  such  the 
a^ve,  interest,  and  even  emotion,  inspired  by  the  surrounding 
edifices.  Hence  the  frequent  references  tiiat  we  find  in  the 
Roman  hi«torians  and  orators,  of  the  Capitol,  the  Forum,  the 

'  temples  of  the  gods  ;  and  lience  those  noble  addresses  to  the 
deities  themselves,  as  appear  in  their  respective  sancluaries. 

a  Iin-pe'-ri-al,  belongiitg  to  an  emperor,     d  Fac'-tion,  a  political  yiarty. 

b  Tro  -phies?.  memorials  ©1"  victory.  e  Ju'-pi-ltr,  ojic  of  the  heathen  deities. 

c  A-By-  luui,  a  reluge- 


Chap.  IV.  descriptive  pieces.  75 

6.  Bui  the  i^lones  of  the  Forum  ai »  nowfled  for  ever;  its 
temples  are  fallen;  its  sanctuaries  h  tve  crumbled  into  dust; 
its  colonnades  encumber^  its  pavements,  now  buried  under 
their  remains.  The  walls  of  the  Rostra,  stripped  of  their 
ornaments,  and  doomed  to  eternal  silence. — a  few  shattered 
porticos,  and  here  and  there  an  insulated^  column,  standing 
in  the  midst  of  broken  shafts, — vast  fragments  of  marble 
capitals  and  cornices,  heaped  together  in  masses, — remind 
the  traveler  that  the  held  which  he  now  traverses  was  once 
the  Roman  Forum. 

7.  A  little  farther  on  commences  a  double  range  of  trees 
that  leads  along  the  Via  Sacra,  by  the  temples  of  Antoninus 
and  of  Peace,  to  the  arch  of  Titus.  A  herdsman,  seated  on 
a  pedestal  while  his  oxen  were  drinking  at  the  fountain,  and 
a  few  passengers,  moving  at  a  distance  in  different  directions, 
were  the  only  living  beings  that  disturbed  the  silence  and 
solitude  which  reigned  aroimd. 

8.  Thus,  the  place  seemed  restored  to  its  original  wlhl- 
ness  described  by  Virgil,  and  abandoned  once  more  to  the 
flocks  and  herds  of  cattle.  So  far  have  the  modern  Romans 
forgotten  the  theater  of  the  glory,  and  of  the  imperial  power 
of  their  ancestors,  as  to  degrade  it  into  a  common  market 
for  cattle  ;  and  sink  its  name,  illustrated  by  every  page  of 
Roman  history,  into  the  contemptible  appellation  of  Campo 
Vaccino.'^ 

9.  Proceeding  along  the  Via  Sacra,  and  passlnir  under  the 
arch  of  Titus,  on  turning  a  little  to  the  left  we  beheld  the 
amphitheater'  of  Vespasian  and  Titus,  now  called  the  Coli- 
seum. Never  did  human  art  present  to  the  eye  a  fal)ric,  so 
well  calculated,  by  its  size  and  form,  to  surprise  and  delight. 
Let  the  spectator  first  place  himself  to  the  north,  and  con- 
template that  side  which  depredation,  barbarism,  and  ages 
have  spared,  he  will  behold  with  admiration  its  wonderful 
extent,  well  proportioned  stories,  and  flying  lines,  that  retire 
and  vanish  Avithout  break  or  interruption. 

10.  Next  let  him  turn  to  the  south,  and  examine  those  stu- 
•'^'ndous  arches,  which,  stripped  as  they  are  of  their  external 
decorations,*"  still  astonish  us  by  their  solidity  and  duration. 
Then  let  him  enter,  range  through  the  lofty  arcades, ^  and, 
iscending  the  vaulted*^  seats,  consider  the  vast  mass  of  ruin 

hat  surrounds  him — insulated  walls,  immense  stones  sus- 
•ended  in  the  air,  archt^  covered  with  weeds  and  shrubs, 

a  En  <  nm'-ber,  to  embarrass.  c  Ainplii-tlif^'-ater,  an  edifice  of  a  round 

Mii'-sii-l;i-te<l,  (ietacliccl.  or  oval  form. 

<-Fo(l-es-''-fal,  the  basR  of  a  c»>lvuTm.       /Dt'c-o-ra'-tions.  adornrifnrs. 
d  Caui-po  V'ac-ci-no.  cow  pasiurc.  g  Arc'-aiies,  coritinuie'  arches. 

h  Vault'-od,  arched. 


76  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  pART   I. 

vaults  opening  upon  other  ruins;  in  short,  above,  below,  and    \ 
around,  one  vast  collection  of  magnificence  and  devastation, 
of  grandeur  and  decay. 

11.  The  Coliseum,  owing  to  the  solidity  of  its  materials, 
survived  the  era*  of  barbarism,  and  was  so  perfect  in  the 
thirteenth  century  that  games  were  exhibited  in  it,  not  for 
the  amusement  of  the  Roman  only,  but  of  all  the  nobility  of 
Italy.  The  destruction  of  this  wonderful  fabric  is  to  be  as- 
cribed to  causes  more  active  in  general  in  the  erection,  than 
in  the  demolition''  of  magnificent  buildings — to  Taste  and 
Vanity. 

12.  When  Rome  began  to  revive,  and  arcrhitccture  arose 
from  its  ruins,  every  rich  and  powerful  citizen  wished  to  have, 
Hot  a  commodious  dwelling  merely,  but  a  palace.  The  Coli- 
seum was  an  immense  quarry  at  hand  :  the  common  people 
stole,  the  grandees""  obtained  permission  to  carry  off,  its  ma- 
terials, till  the  interior  was  dismantled,  and  the  exterior  half 
stripped  of  its  ornaments. 

13.  It  is  difKcult  to  say  where  this  system  of  depredation, 
so  sacrilegious'^  in  the  opinion  of  tlie  antiquary,*  would  have 
sto)>ped,  had  not  Benedict  XIV.,  a  pontiff  of  great  judgment, 
erected  a  cross  in  the  center  of  the  arena,  and  declared  the 
place  sacred,  out  of  respect  to  the  blood  of  the  many  mar- 
tyrs who  were  butchered  there  during  the  persecutions. — 
This  declaration,  if  issued  two  or  three  centuries  ago,  would 
have  preserved  the  Coliseum  entire;  it  can  now  only  pro- 
tect its  remains,  and  transmit  them  in  their  present  state  to 
posterity. 

14.  We  then  ascended  the  Palatine  Mount,  after  having 
walked  around  its  base  in  order  to  examine  its  bearings. — 
This  hill,  the  nursery  of  infant  Rome,  and  finally  the  resi- 
dence of  imperial  grandeur,  presents  now  two  solitary  villas 
and  a  convent,?  with  their  deserted  gardens  and  vineyards. 

15.  Its  numerous  temples,  its  palaces,  its  porticos,  and  its 
libraries, — once  the  glory  of  Rome,  and  the  admiration  of  the 
universe, — are  now  mere  heaps  of  ruins,  so  shapeless  and 
scattered,  that  the  antiquary  and  architect  are  at  a  loss  to  dis- 
cover their  site,  their  plans  and  their  elevation.  Of  that  wing 
of  the  imperial  palace  which  looks  to  the  west,  and  on  the 
Circus  Maximus,  some  apartments  remain  vaulted,  and  of 
fine  proportions,  but  so  deeply  buried  in  ruins  as  to  be  now 
subterranean."* 

16.  A  hall  of  immense  size  was  discovered  about  the  be- 

a  E'-ra,  a  fixed  point  of  time.  e  An'-ti-qua-ry,  one  versed  in  antiquities. 

ii  I)e-ino-li"-iion,  act  of  overilirowing.  /Pon-iif,  a  high  priest. 
c  CixAtu\-ecH%  men  of  rank  y  Con'-veni,  a  religious  house,  a  nun- 

(i  Sac-ri-le'-gious,  violatinu  what  is  sa-        nery. 

cred.  Sul)ter-ra'-nean,  underground. 


Chap.  IV.  descriptive  pieces.  77 

ginning  of  the  last  century,  concealed  under  the  ruins  of  its 
own  massive  roof.  The  pillars  of  Verde  antico  that  support- 
ed its  vaults,  the  statues  that  ornamented  its  niches,*^  and 
the  rich  marbles  that  formed  its  pavement,  Avere  found  buried 
in  rubbish,  and  were  immediately  carried  away  by  the  Far- 
nesian  family,  the  proprietors  of  the  soil,  to  adorn  their  pa- 
laces, and  furnish  their  galleries. 

17.  This  hall  is  now  cleared  of  its  encumbrances,  and  pre- 
sents to  the  eye  a  vast  length  of  nalfad  wall,  and  an  area 
covered  with  weeds.  As  we  stood  contemplating  its  extent 
and  proportions,  a  fox  started  from  an  aperture*^  at  one  end, 
once  a  window,  and,  crossing  the  open  space,  scrambled  up 
the  ruins  at  the  other,  and  disappeared  in  the  rubbish, 

18.  This  scene  of  desolation  reminded  me  of  Ossian's 
beautiful  description  :  '*  tbe  thistle  shook  there  its  lonely 
head ;  the  moss  whistled  lo  the  gale ;  the  fox  looked  out 
from  the  windows  ;  the  rank  grass  waved  around  his  head," — 
and  almost  seemed  tbeaccomplishment  of  that  awful  predic- 
tion— "  There  the  wild  beasts  of  the  desert  shall  lodge,  and 
howling  monsters  shall  fill  the  houses ;  the  wolves  shall  ' 
howl  to  one  another  m  tneir  palaces,  and  dragons  in  their 
voluptuous"'  pavilions."  Eustace* 

SECTION    VII. 

Description  of  EtnaA  ^ 

1.  At  day  break  we  set  off  from  Catania,  to  visit  Mount 
^tna,  that  venerable  and  respectable  father  of  mountains. 
His  base,  and  his  immense  declivities,  are  covered  with  a 
numerous  progeny  of  his  own  ;  for  every  great  eruption  pro- 
duces a  new  mountain;  and,  perhaps  by  the  number  of  these 
better  than  by  any  other  method,  the  number  of  eruptions, 
and  the  age  of  -^tna  itself  mi^ht  be  ascertained. 

2.  The  whole  mountain  is  divided  into  three  distinct  re- 
gions, called  La  Regione  Cultra  or  Piedmontese,  the  fertile 
region;  La  Regione  Sylvosa,  or  Nemorosa,  the  woody  re- 
gion ;  and  La  Regione  Deserta  or  Scoperta,  the  barren  re- 
gion. These  three  are  as  different,  both  in  climate  and  pro- 
ductions, as  the  three  zones  of  the  earth ;  and  perhaps  with 
equal  propriety  might  have  been  styled  the  Torrid,  the  Tem- 
perate, and  the  Frigid  Zone. 

3.  The  first  region  surrounds  the  mountain,  and  consti- 
tutes the  most  fertile  country  in  the  world,  on  all  sides  of  it, 

a  Nich'-es,  hollows  in  a  wall.  d  JEt'-na,  a  moimtaiu  on  the  island  of 

b  Ap  -er-ture,  an  open  place.  Sicily. 

c  Vo-Iup'-tu-ous,  luxurious. 


78  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT    f 

lo  the  extent  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  miles,  where  the  woody 
region  begins.  It  is  composed  almost  entirely  of  lava,  -svhich, 
after  a  number  of  ages,  is  at  last  converted  into  the  most 
fertile  of  all  soils.  At  Nicolosi,  which  is  twelve  miles  -^p 
the  mountain,  we  found  the  barometer-^  at  27  1-2: — at  CatOr 
nia  it  stood  at  29  1-2. 

4.  After  leaving  Nicolosi,  in  an  hour  and  a  half's  travelin-jj 
over  barren  ashes  and  lava,  we  arrived  on  the  confines  of  the 
Regione  Sylvosa,  oic  temperate  zone.  As  soon  as  we  enter 
ed  iliese  delightful  forests,  we  seemed"  to  have  entered  another 
world.  The  air,  which  before  was  sultry  and  hot,  was  now 
cool  and  refreshing;  and  every  breeze  was  loaded  with  a 
thousand  perfumes — the  whole  ground  being' covered  with 
the  richest  aromatic^  plants.  Many  parts  of  this  region  are 
surely  the  most  delightful  spots  upon  earth. 

5.  Thismountain  unites  every  beauty,  and  every  horror;  and 
the  most  opposite  and  dissimilar  objects  in  nature.  Here  you 
observe  a  gulf  that  formerly  threw  out  torrents  of  fire,  now 
co^^ered'with  the  most  luxuriant  vegetation;  and  from  an 
object  of  terror,  become  one  of  delight.  Here  you  gather 
the  most  delicious  fruit,  rising  from  what  was  but  lately  a 
I)arrcn  rock.  Here  the  ground  is  covered  with  flowers;  and 
we  wander  c^er  these  beauties,  and  contemplate  this  wilder- 
ness of  sv/eets,  without  considering  that  under  our  feet,  but 
a  few  yards  separate  us  from  lakes  of  liquid  fire  and  brimstone. 

6.  But  our  astonishment  still  increases,  upon  raising  our 
eye*  lo  the  higher  region  of  the  mountain.  There  we  be- 
hold in  perpetual  union,  the  two  elements  which  are  at  per- 
})etual  war — an  immense  gulf  of  fire,  for  ever  existing  in  the 
midst  of  snows  which  it  has  not  power  to  melt ;  and  im- 
mense fields  of  snow  and  ice,  for  ever  surrounding  this  gulf 
of  fire,  which  they  have  not  power  to  extinguish.  The 
woody  region  of  ^tna  ascends  for  about  eight  or  nirie  miles, 
acd  forms  a  zone  or  girdle  of  the  brightest  green,  ail  around 
the  mountain. 

7.  This  night  we  passed  through  little  more  than  half  of 
it ;  arriving  some  time  before  sun  set  at  our  lodging,  w^hich 
vvas  a  large  cave,  formed  by  one  of  the  most  ancient  and 
venerable  lavas.  Here  we  were  delighted  with  the  cont^'^i- 
plation  of  many  beautiful  objects, — the  prospect  on  all  sides 
being  immense, — and  we  already  seemed  to  have  been  lifted 
from  the  earth.  After  a  comfortable  sleep,  and  other  refresh- 
ments, at  eleven  o'clock  at  night  we  recommenced  our  ex- 
pedition. 

S.  Our  guide  now  began  to  display  his  great  knowledge  Ot 

a  Ba-rom'-e-ter,  an  instrument  to  show       b  Ar-o-ma'-tic,  spicy,  fragrant. 
.1  e  weight  of  the  atmosphere. 


Chap.  IV.  descriptive  pieces.  79 

the  mountain,  and  we  followed  him  with  implicit*  confidence 
where  perhaps  human  foot  had  never  trod  before.  Some- 
times through  gloomy  forests,  which  by  day  were  delightful, 
but  now,  from  the  universal  darkness,  the  rustling  of  the 
trees,  the  heavy  dull  bellowing  of  the  mountain,  the  vast 
expanse  of  ocean  stretched  at  an  immense  distance  below 
us,  inspired  a  kind  of  awful  horror. 

9.  Sometimes  we  found  ourselves  ascending  great  rocks  of 
lava,  where,  if  our  mules  should  make  but  a  false  step,  we 
might  be  thrown  headlong  over  the  precipice. — However,  by 
the  assistance  of  our  guide  we  overcame  all  these  difficulties, 
and  in  two  hours  v/e  had  ascended  above  the  region  of  vegeta- 
tion, and  had  left  the  forests  of  ^tna  farbelow,  which  now  ap- 
peared like  a  dark  and  gloomy  gulf  surrounding  the  mountain. 

10.  The  prospect  before  us  was  of  a  very  different  nature: 
we  beheld  an  expanse  of  snow  and  ice  which  alarmed  us 
exceedingly,  and  almost  staggered  our  resolution.  In  the 
centre  of  this  we  descried  the  high  summit  of  the  mountain, 
rearing  its  tremendous  head,  and  vomiting  out  torrents  of 
smoke. 

11.  The  ascent  for  some  time  was  not  steep,  and  as  the 
surface  of  the  snow  sunk  a  little,  we  had  tolerably  good 
footing ;  but  as  it  soon  began  to  grow  steeper,  we  found  our 
labor  greatly  increased :  however,  we  determined  to  per- 
severe, calling  to  mind  that  the  emperor  Adrian  and  the 
philosopher  Plato  had  undergone  the  samej  and  from  a  like 
motive  too — to  see  the  rising  sun  from  the  top  of  ^tna. 

12.  We  at  length  arrived  at  the  summit;'^  but  here,  de- 
scription must  ever  fall  short;  for  no  iniagination  has  dared 
to  form  an  idea  of  so  glorious,  and  so  magnificent  a  scene. 
Neither  is  there  on  the  surface  of  this  globe,  any  one  point, 
that  unites  so  many  awful  and  sublime  objects -- 

13.  The  immense  elevation  from  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
drawn  as  it  were  to  a  single  point,  witjiout  any  neighboring 
mountain  for  the  senses  and  imagination  to  rest  upon,  and 
recover  from  their  astonishment  in  their  way  down  to  the 
world;— this  point,  or  pinnacle,  raised  on  the  Irrink  of  a 
bottomless  gulf,  as  old  as  the  world,  often  discharging  rivers 
of  fire,  and  throwing  out  burning  rocks,  with  a  noise  that 
shakes  the  whole  islapd,— add  to  this,  the  unbounded  extent 
of  the  prospect,  comprehending  the  greatest  diversity, — and 
the  most  beautiful  scenery  in  nature, — with  the  rising  sun 
advancing  in  the  east,  to  illuminate  the  w^ondrous  scene. 

14.  The  whole  atmosphere  by  degrees  kindled  up,  and 
showed,  dimly  and  'faintly,  the  boundless  prospect  around. 

a  Ira-plic'-it,  tacitly  implied.  b  Sum'-mit,  top,  highest  point. 


80  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   L 

Both  sea  and  land  looked  dark  and  confused,  as  if  only 
emerging  from  their  original  chaos  ;•'  and  light  and  darkness 
seemed  stiil  undivided,  till  the  morning,  by  degrees  advan- 
cing, completed  the  separation.  The  stars  are  extinguished, 
and  the  shades  disappear.  The  forests,  which  but  now 
seemed  black  and  bottomless  gulfs,  from  which  no  ray  was 
reflected  to  shoAV  their  form  or  colors,  appear  a  new  creation 
rising  to  the  sight,  and  catching  life  and  beauty  from  every 
increasing  beam. 

15.  The  scene  still  enlarges,  and  the  horizon  seems  to 
widen  and  expand  itself  on  all  sides,  till  the  sun,  like  the 
great  Creator,  appears  m  the  east,  and  with  his  plastic  rays 
completes  the  mighty  scene.  AH  appears  enchantment; 
and^t  is  with  difficulty  we  can  believe  we  are  still  on  earth. 
The  senses,  unaccustomed  to  the  sublimity  of  such  a  scene, 
are  bewildered  and  confounded  ;  and  it  is  not  till  after  some 
time,  that  they  are  capable  of  separating  and  judging  of  the 
objects  that  compose  it. 

16.  The  body  of  the  sun  is  seen  rising  from  the  ocean,  im- 
mense tracts  both  of  sea  and  land  intervening  ;^  the  islands  of 
Lipari,  Panari,  Alicudi,  Strombolo,  and  Volcano,  w^ith  their 
smoking  summits,  appear  under  your  feet:  you  look  down 
on  the  whole  of  Sicily  as  on  a  map;  and  can  trace  every 
river  through  all  its  "windings,  from  its  source  to  its  mouth. 

17.  The  view  is  absolutely  boundless  on  every  side;,  nor 
is  there  any  one  object- within  the  circle  of  vision  to  interrupt 
it;  so  that  the  sight  is  every  v/here  lost  in  the  immensity; 
and  I  am  persuaded  it  is  only  from  the  imperfection  of  our 
organs,  that  the  coasts  of  Africa,  and  even  of  Greece,  are 
not  discovered,  as  they  are  certainly  above  the  horizon. 
The  circumference  of  the  visible  horizon,  on  the  top  of 
/Etna,  cannot  be  less  than  two  thousand  miles. 

18.  But  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  scene  is  certainly 
the  mountain  itself,  the  island  of  Sicily,  and  the  numerous 
islands  lying  around  it.  All  these,  by  a  kind  of  magic  in 
Vision  that  I  am  at  a  loss  to  account  for,  seem  as  if  they 
were  brought  close  around  the  skirts  of  ^tna — the  distances 
appearing  reduced  to  nothing. 

19.  The  Regione  Deserta,  or  the  frigid  zone  of  ^Etna,  is 
the  first  object  that  calls  your  attention.  It  is  marked  out 
by  a  circle  of  snow  and  ice,  which  extends  on  all  sides  to 
the  distance  of  about  eight  miles.  In  the  center  of  this 
circle,  the  great  crater  of  the  mountain  rears  its  burning 
head;  and  the  regions  of  intense  cold  and  of  intense  heat 
seem  for  ever  to  be  united  in  the  same  point. 

a  Cha'-os,  confused  mass.  b  In-ter-ve-ning,  cominjr  betv:een. 


Chap.  IV.  descriptive  pieces.  81 

20.  The  Regione  Deserta  is  immediately  succeeded  by 
the  Sylvosa,  or  the  woody  region,  which  forms  a  circle  or 
girdle  of  the  most  beautiful  green,  surrounding  the  mountain 
on  all  sides  ;  and  it  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  delightful 
spots  on  earth.  This  presents  a  remarkable  contrast  with 
the  desert  region.  It  is  not  smooth  and  even,  like  the  * 
greatest  part  of  the  latter;  but  it  is  finely  variegated*  by  an 
mfinite  number  of  those  beautiful  little  mountains,  that  have 
been  formed  by  the  different  eruptions  of  ^tna. 

21.  All  these  have  now  acquired  a  wonderful  degree  of 
fertilitv,  except  a  very  few  that  are  but  newly  formed, — that 
is,  Avithin  these  five  or  six  hundred  years ;  for  it  certainly 
requires  some  thousands  to  bring  them  to  their  greatest 
degree  of  perfection.  We  looked  down  into  the  craters  of 
these,  and  attempted,  but  in  vain,  to  number  them. 

22.  The  circumference  of  this  zone  or  great  circle  on 
JEtna,  is  not  less  than  70  or  80  miles.  It  is  every  where 
succeeded  by  the  vineyards,  orchards,  and  corn  fields,  that 
compose  the  Regione  Cultra,  or  the  fertile  region.  This 
last  zone  is  much  broader  than  the  others,  and  extends  on 
all  sides  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  Its  whole  circumfer- 
ence, according  to  Recupero,  is  183  miles. 

23.  It  is  likewise  covered  with  a  number  of  little  conical'' 
and  spherical"^  mountains,  and  exhibits  a  wonderful  variety 
of  forilis  and  colors,  and  makes  a  delightful  contrast  with 
the  other  two  regions.  It  is  bounded  by  the  sea  to  the 
south  and  south-east,  and  on  all  its  other  sides  by  the  rivers 
Semetus  and  Alcantara,  which  run  almost  around  it.  The 
whole  course  of  these  rivers  is  seen  at  once,  and  all  their 
beautiful  windings  through  these  fertile  valleys  looked  upon, 
as  the  favored  possession  of  Ceres*^  herself. 

24.  Cast  your  eyes  a  little  farther,  and  you  embrace  the 
whole  island,  and  see  all  its  cities,  rivers,  and  mountains,  de- 
lineated in  the  great  chart  of  nature,— all  the  adjacent  islands, 
the  whole  coast  of  Italy,  as  far  as  your  eye  can  reach ; — for 
it  is  no  where  bounded,  but  every  where  lost  in  space.  On 
the  sun's  first  rising,  the  shadoAV  of  the  mountain  extends 
across  the  whole  island,  and  makes  a  large  track,  visible  evea 
in  the  sea  and  in  the  air.  By  degrees  this  is  shortened,  and, 
in  a  little  time,  is  confined  only  to  the  neighborhood  of  ^tna. 

25.  We  had  now  time  to  examine  the  fourth  region  of  that 
wonderful  mountain,  very  different  indeed  from  the  others, 
and  productive  of  very  different  sensations;  bat  which  has 
undoubtedly  given  being  to  all  the  rest ; — I  mi  an  the  region 

a  Va'-ri-e-ga-tecl,  diversified.  c  Spher'-i-caL  globular,  round. 

b  Coii'-i-ciii,  111  tlie  form  of  a  cone.         d  Ce'-res,  goddess  of  the  earth. 

6 


82  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT  I. 

of  fire.  The  present  crater  of  tliis  immense  volcano,  is  a 
circle  of  about  tliree  miles  and  a  half  in  circumference.  It 
goes  shelving  down  on  each  side,  and  forms  a  regular 
hollow  like  a  vast  amphitheater. 

26.  From  many  places  of  this  space,  issue  volumes  of 
sulphureous  smoke,  which,  being  much  heavier  than  the 
circumambient*  air,  instead  of  rising  in  it,  as  smoke  generally 
does,  immediately  on  its  getting  out  of  tlie  crater  it  rolls 
down  the  side  of  the  mountain  like  a  torrent,  till  coming  to 
that  part  of  the  atmosphere  of  the  same  specific  gravity  with 
itself,  it  shoots  off,  horizontally,  and  forms  a  large  track  in 
the  air,  according  to  the  direction  of  the  wind,  which,  happily 
for  us,  carried  it  exactly  to  the  side  opposite  to  that  where 
we  were  placed. 

27.  The  crater  is  so  hot  that  it  is  very  dangerous,  if  not 
mipossible,  to  go  down  into  it;  besides,  the  smoke  is  very 
incommodious,^  and  in  many  places  the  surface  is  so  soft, 
there  have  been  instances  of  people  sinking  into  it,  and  pay- 
ing for  their  temerity  with  their  lives.  Near  the  center  of 
the  crater,  is  the  great  mouth  of  the  volcano — that  tremen- 
dous gulf  so  celebrated  in  all  ages,  and  looked  upon  as  the 
terror  and  scourge  both  of  this  and  another  life.  We  beheld 
it  with  awe  and  with  horror,  and  were  not  surprised  that  it 
had  been  considered  as  the  place  of  eternal  punishment. 

2S.  When  we  reflect  on  the  immensity  of  its  depth,  the 
vast  ceils  and  caverns  whence  so  many  lavas  have  issued, — 
the  force  of  its  internal  fire,  to  raise  up  those  lavas  to  so  vast 
a  height,  to  support  as  it  v/ere  in  the  air,  and  even  to  force 
them  over  the  very  summit  of  the  crater, — with  all  the 
dreadful  accompaniments, — the  boiling  of  the  matter,  the 
shaking  of  the  mountain,  the  explosion  of  flaming  rocks, 
&c. — we  must  allow  that  the  most  enthusiastic  imagination 
in  the  midst  of  all  its  terrors,  hardly  ever  formed  an  idea  of 
a  hell  more  dreadful.     ,  Brydone. 


CHAPTER    V 

PATHETIC    PIECES. 
SECTION    I. 

The   Widow  and  her  Son, 

1.  During  my  residence  in  the  country,  I  used  frequently 
to  attend  at  the  old  village  church,  which  stood  in  a  country 
filled  with  ancient  families,  and  contained  within  its  cold  and 

a  Cir-cura-am'-bi-ent,  surrounding.       0  In-com-mo'-di-ous,  incoafrenient. 


Chap.  V.  pathetic  pieces.  83 

silent  aisles,  the  congregated  dust  of  many  noble  generations. 
Its  shadowy  aisles,  its  mouldering  monuments,  its  darkoakea 
panneiing,  all  reverend  with  the  gloom  of  departed  years, 
seemed  to  fit  it  for  the  haunt  of  solemn  meditation. 

2.  A  Sunday,  too,  in  the  country,  is  so  holy  in  its  repose; 
such  a  pensive  quiet  reigns  over  the  face  of  nature,  that  every 
restless  passion  is  charmed  down,  and  we  feel  ail  the  natural 
religion  of  the  soul  gently  springing  up  within  us ; 

"  Sweet  day,  so  pure,  so  calm,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky !— " 

I  do  not  pretend  to  be  what  is  called  a  devout  man,  but  there 
are  feelings  that  visit  me  in  a  country  church,  amid  the 
beautiful  serenity  of  nature,  which  I  experience  no  v/here 
else  ;  and  if  not  a  more  religious,  I  think  I  am  a  better  man 
on  Sunday,  than  on  any  other  day  of  tLe  seven. 

3.  But  in  this  church  I  felt  myself  continually  thrown 
back  upon  the  world,  by  the  frigidity*  and  pomp  of  the  poor 
\vorms  around  me.  The  only  being  that  seemed  thoroughly 
to  feel  the  humble  and  prostrate  piety  of  a  true  Christian, 
was  a  poor  decrepit^  old  woman,  bending  under  the  weight 
cf  years  and  infirmities. — She  bore  the  traces  of  something 
better  than  abject  poverty.  The  lingerings  of  decent  pride 
were  visible  in  her  appearance.  Her  dress,  though  humble 
in  the  extreme,  was  scrupulously  clean. 

4.  Some  trivial  respect,  too,  had  been  av/arded  her;  for 
she  did  not  take  her  seat  among  the  village  poor,  but  sat  alone 
on  the  steps  of  the  altar.  She  seemed  to  have  survived  all 
love,  all  friendship,  all  society  ;  and  to  have  nothing  left  her 
but  the  hopes  of  heaven.  When  I  saw  her  feebly  rising,  and 
bending  her  aged  form  in  prayer, — habitually  conning*^  her 
prayer-book,  which  her  palsied  hand  and  failing  eyes  would 
not  permit  her  to  read,  but  which  she  evidently  knew  by 
heart, — I  felt  persuaded  that  the  faltering  voice  of  that  poor 
woman  arose  to  Heaven  far  before  the  responses  of  the  clerk, 
the  swell  of  the  organ,  or  the  chanting  of  the  choir. '^ 

5.  I  am  fond  of  loitering  about  country  churches,  and  this 
was  so  delightfully  situated,  that  it  frequently  attracted  me. 
It  stood  on  a  knoll,  around  which  a  stream  made  a  beautiful 
bend,  and  then  wound  its  way  through  a  long  reach  of  soft 
meadow  scenery.  The  church  was  surrounded  by  yew 
trees,  which  seemed  almost  coeval*'  with  itself.  Its  tail 
Gothic  spire  shot  up  lightly  from  among  them,  with  rooks 
and  crows  generally  wheeling  about  it. 

a  Frig'-id-i-ty,  coldness.  d  Choir,  pron.  Quire,  a  body  of  singers. 

b  De-crep'-it,  worn  by  age.  e  Co-e'-val,  of  the  same  age. 

€  Cou'-ning,  JQiing  in  the  mind. 


M  NEW  ENGLISH  READER.  ^  ART  1 

6  I  was  seated  there  one  still,  sunny  morning,  watching 
two  laborers  who  were  digginsc  a  grave. — They  had  chosen 
one  of  the  most  remote  and  neglected  corners  of  the  church- 
yard, where,  from  the  number  of  nameless  graves  around,  it 
would  appear  that  the  indigent  and  friendless  were  huddled 
into  ilie  earth.  I  was  told  that  the  new-made  grave  was  for 
the  only  son  of  a  poor  widow. 

7.  A'Vhile  I  was  meditating  on  the  distinctions  of  worldly 
rank,  which  extend  thus  down  into  the  very  dust,  the  toil  of 
the  bell  annouaced  the  approach  of  the  funeral.  They  were 
ihe  obsequies'^  of  poverty,  with  which  pride  had  nothing  to 
do.  A  coffin  of  the  plainest  materials,  without  pail  or  other 
covering,  was  burne  by  some  of  the  villagers.  The  sexton'** 
walked  before  with  an  air  of  cold  indiiierence. 

8.  There  were  no  mock  mourners  iu  the  trappings  of 
afiected  v;o;  but  there  was  one  real  mourner,  who  feebly 
tottered  after  the  corpse.  It  v/as  the  aged  mother  of  the 
deceased — the  poor  old  woman  whom  I  had  seen  seated  on 
the  steps  of  the  altar.  She  was  supported  by  an  humble 
friend,  who  was  endeavoring  to  comfort  her.  A  few  of  the 
neighboring  poor  had  joined  the  train,  and  some  children  of 
the  village  were  running,  hand  in  hand,  now  shouting  with 
unthinking  mirth,  and  now  pausing  to  gaze,  with  childish 
curiosity,  on  the  grief  of  the  mourner. 

9.  As  the  funeral  train  approached  the  grave,  the  parson 
issued  from  the  church  porch,  arrayed  in  the  surplice,*^  with 
prayer-book  in  hand,  and  attended  by  the  clerk.  The  ser- 
vice, however,  was  a  mere  act  of  charity.  The  deceased  had 
been  destitute,  and  the  survivor  was  pennyless.  It  was  shuf- 
fled through,  therefore,  in  form,  but  coldly  and  unfeelingly. 
The  well-fed  priest  moved  but  a  few  steps  from  the  church 
door;  his  voice  could  scarcely  be  heard  at  the  grave;  and 
never  did  I  hear  the  funeral  service,  that  sublime  and  touch- 
ing ceremony,  turned  into  such  a  frigid  mummery  of  words. 

10.  I  approached  the  grave.  The  coffin  was  placed  on 
the  ground.  On  it  were  inscribed  the  name  and  age  of  the 
deceased — "  George  Somers,  aged  26  years."  The  poor 
mother  had  been  assisted  to  kneel  down  at  the  head  of  it. 
Her  withered  hands  were  clasped  as  if  in  prayer;  but  I 
could  perceive,  by  a  feeble  rocking  of  the  body,  and  a  con- 
vulsive motion  of  the  lips,  that  she  was  gazing  on  the  last 
relics  of  her  son,  with  the  yearnings  of  a  mother's  heart. 

11.  The  service  being  ended,  preparations  .were  made  to 
deposit  the  coffin  in  the  earth.     There  was  that  bustling  stir 

a  Ob'-se-quies,  funeral  solemnities.       c  Sur'-plice,  a  garment  for  clergymen. 
b  Sex'-ton,  one  whose  business  is  to 
dig  graves. 


Chap.  V.  pathetic  pieces.  85 

which  breaks  so  harshly  on  the  feelings  of  grief  and  affec- 
tion— directions  given  in  the  cold  tones  of  business — the 
striking  of  spades  into  sand  and  gravel, — which,  at  the  grave 
of  those  we  love,  is  of  ail  sounds  the  most  Avithering.  The 
bustle  around  seemed  to  waken  the  mother  from  a  wretched 
revery.*  She  raised  her  glazed  eyes  and  looked  about  with 
a  faint  wildness. 

12.  As  the  men  approached,  with  cords  to  lower  the  coffia 
Into  the  grave,  she  wrung  her  hands,  and  broke  into  an  agony 
of  grief  The  poor  woman  who  attended  her,  took  her  by 
the  arm,  endeavoring  to  raise  her  from  the  earth,  and  to 
whisper  something  like  consolation; — she  could  only  shake 
her  head,  and  wring  her  hands,  as  one  not  to  be  comforted. 

13.  As  they  lowered  the  body  into  the  earth,  the  creaking 
of  the  cords  seemed  to  agonize  her;  but  when,  on  some 
accidental  obstruction,  there, was  a  justling  of  the  coffin,  all 
the  tenderness  of  the  mother  burst  forth ;  as  if  any  harm 
could  come  to  him  who  was  far  beyond  the  reach  of  worldly 
suffering. 

14.  I  could  see  no  more ; — my  heart  swelled  into  my 
throai ; — my  eyes  filled  with  tears ; — I  felt  as  if  I  were  acting 
a  barbarous  part  in  standing  by,  and  gazing  idly  on  this 
scene  of  maternal*^  anguish.-  I  wandered  to  another  part 
of  the  church-yard,  where  1  remained  until  the  funeral  train 
had  dispersed. 

15.  When  1  saw  the  mother  slowly  and  painfully  quitting 
the  grave,  leaving  behind  her  the  remains  of  all  that  was 
dear  to  her  on  earth,  and  returning  to  silence  and  destitution, 
my  heart  ached  lor  her.  What,  thought  I.  are  the  distresses 
of  the  rich  ! — they  have  friends  to  soothe, — pleasures  to 
beguile,— a  world  to  divert  and  dissipate  their  griefs.  What 
are  the  sorrows  of  the  young! — their  growing  minds  soon 
close  above  the  wound, — their  elastic  spirits  soon  rise  be- 
neath the  pressure, — their  green  and  ductile^  affections  soon 
twine  around  new  objects. 

16.  But  the  sorrows  of  the  poor,  who  have  no  outward 
appliances'*  to  soothe, — the  sorrows  of  the  aged,  with  whom 
life  at  best  is  but  a  wintry  day,  and  who  can  look  for  no 
after-growth  of  joy, — the  sorrows  of  a  widow,  aged,  solitary, 
destitute,  mourning  over  an  only  son,  the  last  solace  of 
her  years, — these  are  indeed  sorrows  which  make  us  feel 
the  impotency*  of  consolation. 

17.  It  was  some  time  before  I  left  the  church-yard.  On 
my  way  homeward,  I  met  with  the  woman  who  had  acted 

a  Rev'-e-ry,  loose  thought.  d  Appli'-an-ces,  things  applied. 

b  Ma-  tern'al,  motherly  c Ln'-pCrten-cy,  weakness. 

cl>uc  -tile,  pliabls. 


86  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   I. 

as  comforter :  she  was  just  returning  from  accompanying 
the  mother  to  her  lonely  habitation,  and  I  drew  from  her 
some  particulars  connected  with  the  affecting  scene  I  had 
witnessed. 

18.  The  parents  of  the  deceased  had  resided  in  the  village 
from  childhood.  They  had  inhabited  one  of  the  neatest 
cottages,  and  by  various  rural"^  occupations,  and  the  assist- 
ance of  a  small  garden,  had  supported  themselves,  creditably 
and  comfortably,  and  led  a  happy,  and  a  blameless  life. 
They  had  one  son,  who  had  grown  up  to  be  the  staff  and 
pride  of  tlieir  age. 

19.  Unfortunately,  the  son  was  tempted,  during  a  year  of 
scarcity  and  agricultural  hardship,  to  enter  into  the  service 
of  one  of  the  small  craft,  that  plied  on  a  neighboring  river. 
He  had  not  been  long  in  this  employ,  when  he  was  entrap- 
ped by  a  press-gang,  and  carried  oil  to  sea.  His  parents 
received  tidings  of  his  seizure,  but  beyond  that  they  could 
learn  nothing.  It  was  the  loss  of  their  main  prop.  The 
father,  who  was  already  infirm,  grew  heartless  and  melan- 
choly and  sunk  into  his  grave. 

20.  The  widow,  left  lonely  in  her  age  anJ  feebleness, 
could  no  longer  support  herself,  and  came  upon  the  parish.^ 
Still  there  was  a  kind  feeling  toward  her  througliout  the 
village;  and  a  certain  respect  as  beinic  one  of  the  oKle>t 
inhabitants.  As  no  one  applied  for  the  cottage  in  which 
she  had  passed  so  many  happy  days,  she  was  permitted  to 
remain  in  it,  where  she  lived,  solitary  and  almost  hel|>less. 
The  few  wants  of  nature  were  chiePiy  supplied  from  the 
scanty  productions  of  her  little  garden,  which  the  neighbors 
would  now  and  then  cultivate  for  her. 

21.  It  was  but  a  few  days  before  the  time  at  which  these 
circum.stances  were  told  me,  that  she  was  gathering  some 
vegetables  for  her  repast,  when  she  heard  the  cottage  door, 
which  faced  the  garden,  suddenly  open.  A  stranger  came 
out,  and  seemed  To  be  looking  eagerly  and  wildly  around. 
He  Avas  dressed  in  seamen's  clothes,  was  emaciated-^  and 
ghastly  pale,  and  bore  the  air  of  one  broken  by  sickness  and 
hardships. 

22.  He  saw  her,  and  hasted  toward  her,  but  his  steps 
were  faint  and  faltering;  he  sunk  on  his  knees  before  her, 
and  sobbed  like  a  child.  The  poor  woman  gazed  upon  him 
with  a  vacant  and  wandering  eye — "  Oh  my  dear,  dear  mo- 
ther I  don't  you  know  your  son!  your  poor  boy  George  !" 
It  was  indeed  the  wreck  of  her  once  noble  lad,  who,  shat- 

a  Ru'-ral,  belonging  tc  the  country.       c  E-ma'-ci-a-ted,  reduced  in  flcsk. 
b  Far'-isli  distxict  of  a  uriest 


'Chap.  V.  pathetic  pieces.  87 

tered  by  wounds,  by  sickness,  and  foreign  imprisonment,  had 
at  length  dragged  his  wasted  limbs  homeward,  to  repose 
among  the  scenes  of  his  childhood. 

23.  I  will  not  attempt  to  detail  the  particulars  of  sucii  a 
meeting,  where  joy  and  sorrow  were  so  completely  blended  : 
— still  he  was  alive  I  he  had  come  home  !  he  might  yet  live 
to  comfort  and  cherish  her  old  age  !  Nature,  however,  was 
exhausted  in  him;  and  if  any  thing  had  been  wanting  to 
finish  the.work  of  fate,  the  desolation  of  his  native  cottage 
would  have  been  sufficient.  He  stretched  himself  on  the 
pallet,  on  which  his  widowed  mother  had  passed  many  a 
sleepless  night,  and  he  never  rose  from  it  again. 

24.  The  villagers,  when  they  heard  that  George  Somers 
had  returned,  crowded  to  see  him,  offering  every  comfort 
and  assistance  that  their  humble  means  afforded. — He  was 
too  weak,  however,  to  talk — he  could  only  look  his  thanks. 
His  mother  was  his  constant  attendant;  and  he  seemed 
unwilling  to  be  helped  by  any  other  hand. 

25.  There  is  something  in  sickness  that  breaks  down  the 
pride  of  manhood, — that  softens  the  heart,  and  brings  it 
back  to  the  feelings  of  infancy.  Who  that  has  languished, 
— even  in  advanced  life,  in  sickness  and  despondency, — who 
that  has  pined  on  a  weary  bed,  in  the  neglect  and  loneliness 
of  a  foreign  land, — but  has  thought  of  the  mother  "that 
looked  on  his  childhood,"  that  smoothed  his  pillow  and 
administered  to  his  helplessness? 

26.  Oh!  there  is  an  enduring  tenderness  in  the  love  of  a 
mother  to  a  son,  that  transcends  all  the  other  affections  of 
the  heart.  It  is  neither  to  be  chilled  by  selfishness,  nor 
daunted  by  danger,  nor  weakened  by  worth lessness,  nor 
stifled  by  ingratitude.  She  will  sacrifice  every  comfort  to 
his  convenience ;  she  will  surrender  every  pleasure  to  his 
enjoyment;  she  will  glory  in  his  fame,  and  exult  in  his 
prosperity :  and,  if  adversity  overtake  him,  he  will  be  the 
dearer  to  her  by  misfortune;  and,  if  disgrace  settle  upon  his 
name,  she  will  still  love  and  cherish  him;  and,  if  all  the 
world  beside  cast  him  cff,  she  wiil  be  all  the  world  to  him. 

27.  Poor  George  Somers  had  Known  Avell  what  it  was  to 
be  in  sickness,  and  have  none  to  sootne — lonely  and  in  pri- 
son, and  none  to  visit  him.  He  could  not  endure  his  mother 
from  his  sight :  if  she  moved  awa  v,  his  eye  would  follow  her. 
She  would  sit  for  hours  by  his  bed,  waiching  him  as  he  slept. 
Sometimes  he  would  start  irrm  a  f»-:verish  dream,  and  look 
anxiously  up  until  he  saw  her  veneraole  form  bending  over 
him ;  Avhen  he  would  take  her  hand,  lay  it  on  his  bosom, 
and  fall  asleep  with  the  tranquillity  of  a  child: — in  this  way 
he  died. 


88  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  L 

28.  My  first  impulse  on  hearing  this  humble  tale  of  afflic- 
tion, was  to  visit  the  cottage  of  the  mourner,  and  administer 
pecuniary'^  assistance,  and,  if  possible,  comfort.  I  found 
however  on  inquiry,  that  the  good  feelings  of  the  villagers 
had  prompted  them  to  do  every  thing  that  the  case  admit- 
ted 5  and  as  the  poor  know  best  how  to  console  each  other's 
sorrows,  I  did  not  venture  to  intrude. 

29.  The  next  Sunday  I  was  at  the  village  church,  when, 
to  my  surprise,  I  saw  the  old  woman  tottering  down  the  aisle 
to  her  accustomed  seat  on  the  steps  of  the  altar.  She  had 
made  an  eilort  to  put  on  something  liiie  mourning  for  her 
son  ;  and  nothing  could  be  more  touching  than  this  struggle 
between  pious  affection  and  utter  poverty  : — a  black  riband 
or  so — a  faded  black  handkerchief,  and  one  or  two  more  such 
humble  attempts  to  express,  by  outward  signs,  that  grief 
which  passes  show. 

30.  When  I  looked  around  upon  the  storied  monuments, 
the  stately  hatchments,  the  cold  marble  pomp,  with  which 
grandeur  mourned  magnificently  over  departed  pride, — and 
then  turned  to  this  poor  widow,  bowed  down  by  age  and 
sorrow  at  the  aliar  of  her  God,  and  offering  up  the  prayers 
and  praises  of  a  pious,  though  a  broken  heart, — 1  felt  that 
this  living  monument  of  real  grief  was  worth  them  all. 

31.  I  related  her  story  to  some  of  the  wealthy  members  of 
the  congregation,  and  they  were  moved  by  it.  They  exerted 
themselves  to  render  her  situation  more  comfortable,  and  to 
lighten  her  afflictions.  It  was  however  but  smoothing  a  lew 
steps  to  the  grave.  In  the  course  of  a  Sunday  or  two  after, 
she  was  missed  from  her  usual  seat  at  church,  and  before  I 
left  the  neighborhood,  I  heard,  with  a  feeling  of  satisfaction, 
that  she  had  quietly  breathed  her  last,  and  gone  to  rejoin 
those  she  loved,  in  tliat  world  where  sorrow  is  never  known, 
and  friends  are  never  parted. 

SECTION    II. 

The  Blind  Preacher, 

1.  It  was  one  Sunday,  as  I  traveled  through  the  county 
of  Orange,  in  Virginia,  that  my  eye  was  caught  by  a  cluster 
of  horses,  tied  near  a  ruinous,  old,  wooden  house,  in  the 
forest,  not  far  from  the  road  side.  Having  frequently  seen 
such  objects  before,  in  traveling  through  these  states,  I  had 
no  difhculty  in  understanding  that  this  was  a  place  of 
religious  worship. 

2.  Devotion  alone  should  have  stopped  me,  to  join  in  the 

a  Pc-cu'-ni-ary,  relating  to  money. 


Chap.  V.  pathetic  pieces.  89 

duties  of  the  congregation  ;  but  I  must  confess,  that  curiosity 
to  hear  the  preacher  of  such  a  wilderness,  was  not  the  least 
of  my  motives.  On  entering  tlie  house,  I  was  struck  with 
his  preternatural*  appearance.  He  was  a  tall  and  very  spare 
old  man,— his  head,  which  was  covered  with  a  white  linen 
cap,  his  shriveled  hands,  and  his  voice,  were  ail  shaking 
under  the  influence  of  a  palsy  j  and  a  few  moments  ascer- 
tained to  me  that  he  was  perfectly  blind. 

3.  The  first  emotions  which  touched  my  breast,  were  those 
of  mingled  pity  and  veneration.  But  how  soon  were  all  my 
feelings  changed  !  The  lips  of  Plato^  were  never  more 
worthy  of  a  prognostic*"  swarm  of  bees,  than  were  the  lipa 
of  this  holy  man  !  It  was  a  day  of  the  administration  of  the 
sacrament;  and  his  subject,  of  course,  was  the  passion  of 
our  Savior.  I  had  heard  the.  subject  handled  a  thousand 
times:  I  had  thought  it  exhausted  long  ago.  Little  did  I 
suppose,  that  in  the  wild  v/oods  of  America,  I  was  to  meet 
with  a  man,  whose  eloquence  would  give,  to  this  topic,  a  new 

.and  more  sublime  pathos'*  than  I  had  ever  before  witnessed. 

4.  As  he  descended  from  the  pulpit,  to  distribute  the  mys- 
tic symbols,'  there  was  a  peculiar — a  more  than  hutnan 
solemnity  in  his  air  and  manner,  which  made  my  blood  run 
cold,  and  my  whole  frame  shiver.  He  then  drew  a  picture 
of  the  sufferings  of  our  Savior, — his  trial  before  Pilate, — his 
ascent  up  Calvary, — his  crucifixion,  and  his  death.  I  knew 
the  whole  history;  but  never,  until  then,  had  I  heard  the 
circumstances  so  selected,  so  arranged,  so  colored !  It  was 
all  new;  and  I  seemed  to  have  heard  it  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life. 

5.  His  enunciation^  was  so  deliberate  that  his  voice  trem- 
bled on  every  syllable ;  and  every  heart  in  the  assembly 
trembled  in  unison.  His  peculiar  phrases  had  that  force  of 
description,  that  the  original  scene  appeared  to  be  at  that 
moment  acting  before  our  eyes.  We  saw  the  very  faces  of 
the  Jews — the  staring,  frightful  distortions  of  malice  and 
rage.  We  saw  the  butfet:  my  soul  kindled  with  j;  flame  of 
indignation ;  and  my  hands  were  involuntarily  and  convul- 
sively clinched. 

6.  But  when  he  came  to  touch  on  the  patience,  tlie  for- 
giving meekness  of  our  Savior;  when  he  drew,  to  the  life, 
• — his  blessed  eyes  streaming  in  tears  to  heaven, — his  voice 
breathing  to  God  a  soft  and  gentle  prayer  of  pardon  on  his 
enemies, — "  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what 

c  Pre-ter-nat'-u-ral,   beyond  what  is    dPa'-tlios.  that  which  excites  to  feeling. 

natural.  e  Syin'-bol«,  emblems. 

b  Pla'-to,  a  Grecian  philosopher.  /E-nunci-a'-iion,  utterance  of  words. 

c  Prog-noti'-tic,  foreboding. 


Part  L  \ 

they  do ;" — the  voice  of  the  preacher  which  had  all  along  fal- 
tered, grew  fainter  and  fainter,  until,  his  utterance  being  en- 
tirely obstructed  by  the  force  of  his  feelings,  he  raised  his 
handkerchief  to  his  eyes,  and  burst  into  a  loud  and  irrepressi- 
ble flood  of  grief.  The  effect  was  inconceivable.  The  Avhole 
house  resounded  with  the  mingled  groans,  and  sobs,  and 
shrieks  of  the  congregation. 

'  7.  It  was  some  time  before  the  tumult  had  subsided,  so  far 
as  to  permit  him  to  proceed.  Indeed,  judging  by  the  usual, 
but  fallacious  standard  of  my  own  weakness,  I  b«^^'gan  to  be 
very  uneasy  for  the  situation  of  the  preacher.  For  I  could 
not  conceive  how  he  would  be  able  to  let  his  audience  down 
from  the  height, to  which  he  had  wound  them,  without  im- 
pairing the  solemnity  and  dignity  of  his  subject,  or  perhaps 
shocking  them  by  the  abruptness  of  the  fall.  But — no:  the 
descent  was  as  beautiful  and  sublime,  as  the  elevation  had 
been  rapid  and  enthusiastic. 

8.  The  first  sentence  with  which  he  broke  the  awful  si- 
lence, was  a  quotatiou"^  fi-om  Rousseau; — "Socrates  died 
like  a  philosopher,  but  Jesus  Christ  like  a  God!" — I  despair 
of  giving  you  any  idea  of  the  effect  produced  by  this  short 
sentence,  unless  you  could  perfectly  conceive  the  whole 
manner  of  the  man,  as  well  as  the  peculiar  crisis  in  the  dis- 
course. Never  before,  did  I  completely  understand  what 
Demosthenes  meant,  by  laying  such  stress  on  delivery. 

9.  You  are  to  bring  before  you  the  venerable  figure  of  the 
preacher, — his  blindness  constantly  recalling  to  your  recol- 
lection old  Homer,  Ossian  and  iVlilion,  and  associate  with 
his  performance  the  melancholy  grandeur  of  their  geniuses, 
— you  are  to  imagine  that  you  hear  his  slow,  solemn,  well- 
accented  enunciation,  and  his  voice  of  affecting,  trembling 
melody — you  are  to  remember  the  pitch  of  passion  and  en- 
thusiasm to  which  the  congregation  were  raised, — and  then, 
the  few  minutes  of  portentous,^  death-like  silence  which 

.  reigned  throughout  the  house, — to  see  the  preacher,  removing 
his  white  handkerchief  from  his  aged  face,  even  yet  wet  from 
the  recent  torrent  of  his  tears,  and  slowly  stretching  forth 
the  palsied  hand  which  holds  it,  begin  the  sentence — ''  Soc- 
rates died  like  a  philosopher" — then  pausing,  raising  his 
other  hand,  pressing  them  both,  clasped  together,  with 
warmth  and  energy  to  his  breast,  lifting  his  sightless  balls 
to  Heaven,  and  pouring  his  whole  soul  into  his  tremulous 
voice — "but  Jesus  Christ — like  a  God!" — If  he  had  been 
indeed  and  in  truth  an  angel  of  light,  the  effect  could 
scarcely  have  been  more  divine. 

a  Quo-ta'-tion,  passage  ciLed.  b  Por-tent'  ous,  ominoas. 


Chap.  V,  pathetic  pieces.  91 

10.  Whatever  I  had  been  able  to  conceive  of  the  sublimiiy 
of  Massillon,  or  the  force  of  Bourdaloiie,  had  fallen  far  short 
of  the  power  which  I  felt,  from  the  delivery  of  this  simple 
sentence.  The  blood,  which  just  before  had  rushed  in  a 
hurricane  upon  my  brain,  and,  in  the  violence  and  agony  of 
my  feelings,  had  held  my  whole  system  in  suspense,  now 
ran  back  into  my  heart,  with  a  sensation  which  I  cannot 
describe — a  kind  of  shuddering  delicious  horror !  The  par- 
oxysm* of  blended  pity  and  indignation  to  which  I  liad  been 
transported,  subsided  into  the  deepest  self-abasement,  humil- 
ity, and  adoration.  I  had  just  been  hicerated^  and  dissolved 
by  sympathy  for  our  Savior,  as  a  fellow  creature  ;  but  now, 
with  fear  and  trembling,  I  adored  him  as  — *'a  God  !" 

11.  If  this  description  gives  you  the  impression,  that  this 
incomparable  minister  had  any  thing  of  shallow,  theatrical 
trick  in  his  manner,  it  does  him  great  injustice.  I  have 
never  seen,  in  any  other  orator,  such  an  union  of  simplicity 
and  majesty.  He  has  not  a  gesture,  an  attitude,  or  an  ac- 
cent, to  which  he  does  not  se^m  forced  by  the  sentiment 
which  he  is  expressing.  His  miftd  is  too  serious,  too  earnest, 
too  solicitous."^  and,  at  the  same  time  too  dignified,  to  stoop 
to  artifice.  Although  as  far  removed  from  ostentation  as  a 
man  can  be,  yet  it  is  clear,  from  the  train,  the  style  and 
substance  of  his  thoughts,  that  he  is  not  only  a  very  polite 
scholar  but  a  man  of  very  extensive  and  profound  erudition.'' 

12.  This  man  has  been  before  my  imagination  almost  ever 
since.  A  thousand  times  as  I  rode  along,  I  dropped  the 
reins  of  my  Irridle,  stretched  forth  my  hand,  and  tried  to 
imitate  his  quotation  from  Rousseau;  a  thousand  times  I 
abandoned  the  attempt  in  despair,  and  felt  persuaded  that 
his  peculiar  manner  and  power,  arose  from  an  ener^^y  of  soul 
which  nature  could  give,  but  which  no  human  being  could 
justly  copy. 

SECTION    III. 

The  Head  Stone. 

1.  The  coffm  was  let  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  grave ;  tne 
planks  were  removed  from  the  heaped-up  brink ;  the  first 
rattling  clods  had  struck  their  knell ;  the  quick  shoveling 
was  over;  and  the  long,  broad,  skilfully  cut  pieces  of  lutf 
were  aptly  joined  together,  and  trimly  laid  by  the  beating 
spade;  so  that  the  newest  mound  in  the  church-yard,  was 
scarcely  distinguishable  from  those  that  were  grown   over 

aPar'-oxysm,  perifxlical  return  of  a  fit.    c  So  lic'-it-ous,  anxious,  careful. 
b  Lac'-e-ra-ted,  torn,  reut.  d  E-ru-di'-tion,  learning. 


92  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaUT  I. 

by  tlie  undisturbed  grass  and  daises  of  a  luxuriant  spring. 
Tiie  burial  was  soon  over;  and  the  party  with  one  consent- 
ing motion,  having  uncovered  their  heads,  in  decent  rever- 
ence of  the  place  and  occasion,  were  beginning  to  separate, 
and  about  to  leave  the  church-yard. 

2.  Here  some  acquaintances,  from  distant  parts  of  the  pa- 
rish, who  had  not  had  an  opportunity  of  addressing  each  other 
in  the  house  that  had  belonged  to  the  deceased,  nor  in  the 
course  of  the  few  hundred  yards  that  the  little  procession  had 
to  move  over  from  his  bed  to  his  grave,  were  shaking  hands, 
quietly  and  cheerfully,  and  inquiring  after  the  welfare  of 
each  other's  families.  There,  a  small  knot  of  neighbours 
were  speaking,  without  exaggeration,  of  the  respectable  cha- 
racter which  the  deceased  had  borne,  and  mentioning  to  one 
another,  the  little  incidents  of  his  life,  some  of  them  so  re- 
mote as  to  be  known  only  to  the  gray-headed  persons  of  the 
group. 

3.  While  a  few  yards  farther  removed  from  the  spot,  were 
standing  together  parties  who  discussed*^  ordinary  concerns, 
aliogether  unconnected  with  the  funeral,  such  as  the  state  of 
the  markets,  the  promise  of  the  season,  or  change  of  tenants; 
hut  still  with  a  sobriety  of  manner  and  voice,  that  was  insen- 
sibly produced  by  the  influence  of  the  simple  ceremony  now 
closed, — by  the  quiet  graves  around,  and  the  shadow  of  the 
spire  and  gray  walls  of  the  house  of  God. 

4.  Tavo  men  yet  stood  together  at  the  head  of  the  grave, 
with  countenances  of  sincere,  but  unimpassioned  grief. 
They  were  brothers — the  only  sons  of  him  who  had  been 
buried.  And  there  was  something  in  their  situation  that 
naturally  kept  the  eyes  of  many  directed  upon  them,  for  a 
long  time,  and  more  intently  than  would  have  been  the  case, 
hiui  there  been  nothing  more  observable  about  them,  than  the 
common  symptoms  of  a  common  sorroAV.  But  these  two 
brothers,  who  were  now  standing  at  the  head  of  their  father's 
grave,  had  for  some  years  been  totally  estranged^  from  each 
other;  and  the  only  words  that  had  passed  between  them, 
during  all  that  time,  had  been  uttered  within  a  few  days 
past,  during  the  necessary  preparations  for  the  old  man's 
funeral. 

5.  No  deep  and  deadly  quarrel  was  between  these  brothers, 
and  neither  of  them  could  distinctly  tell  the  cause  of  this 
unnatural  estrangement.  Perhaps  dim  jeaiousies  of  their 
father's  favor, — selfish  thoughts  that  will  sometimes  force 
themselves  into  poor  men's  hearts,  respecting  temporal  ex- 
pectations— unaccommodating    manners    on    both  sides — 

a  Dis-cuss'-ed,  debated  b  Es-trang'-cd,  alienated  in  affection. 


CllAP.  V.  PATHETIC    PIECES.  93 

taunting*  words  that  mean  little  when  uttered,  but  which 
rankle  and  fester  in  remembrance — imagined  opposition  of 
interests,  that,  duly  considered,  would  have  been  found  one 
and  the  same — these,  and  many  other  causes,  slight  when 
single,  but  strong  when  rising  up  together  in  one  baneful 
band,  had  gradually,  but  fatally  infected  their  hearts,  till  at 
last,  they  who  in  youth  had  been  seldom  separate,  and  truly 
attached,  now  met  at  murket,  and,  miserable  to  say,  at 
church,  with  dark  and  averted''  faces,  like  different  clansmen 
during  a  feud. 

6.  Surely  if  any  thing  could  have  softened  their  hearts  to- 
wards each  other,  it  must  have  been  to  stand  silently,  side  by 
side,  while  the  earth,  stones  and  clods,  were  falling  down 
upon  their  father's  coffin.  And  doubtless  their  hearts  were 
so  softened.  But  pride,  though  it  cannot  prevent  the  holy 
affections  of  nature  from  being  felt,  may  prevent  them  from 
being  shown ;  and  these  two  brothers  stood  there  together,  de- 
termined not  to  let  each  other  know  the  mutual  tenderness 
that,  in  spite  of  them,  was  gushing  up  in  their  hearts,  and 
teaching  them  the  unconfessed  folly  and  wickedness  of  their 
causeless  quarrel. 

7.  A  head-stone  had  been  prepared,  and  a  person  came  for- 
ward to  plant  it.  The  elder  brother  directed  him  how  to 
place  it — a  plain  stone,  with  a  sand-glass,  skull,  and  cross- 
bbnes,  chiseled  not  rudely,  and  a  few  words  inscribed.  The 
younger  brother  regarded  the  operation  with  a  troubled  eye, 
and  said,  loudly  enough  to  be  heard  by  the  by-standers, 
"William,  this  was  not  kind  in  you;  for  you  should  have 
told  me  of  this.  I  loved  my  father  as  well  as  you  could  love 
him.  You  were  the  elder,  and,  it  may  b^,  the  favorite  son; 
but  I  had  a  right  in  nature  to  have  joined  you  in  ordering 
this  head-stone,  had  I  not?" 

8.  During  these  words,  the  stone  was  sinking  into  the 
earth,  and  many  persons  who  were  on  their  way  from  the 
grave  returned.  For  a  while  the  elder  brother  said  nothing, 
for  he  had  a  consciousness  in  his  heart  that  he  ought  to  have 
consulted  his  father's  son,  in  designing  this  last  becoming 
mark  of  affection  and  respect  to  his  memory;  so  the  stone 
was  planted  in  silence,  and  now  stood  erect,  decently  and 
giniply,  among  the  other  unostentatious  memorials  of  tho 
humble  dead. 

9.  The  inscription  merely  gave  the  name  and  age  of  the 
deceased,  and  told  that  the  stone  had  been  erected  "  by  his 
affectionate  sons."  The  sight  of  these  words  seemed  to  s(^V 
en  the  displeasure  of  the  angry  man.  and  he  said,  somewhat 

a  Taunt'-ing,  upbraiding  witli  words.       b  A-vert'-ed,  turned  away. 


tB4  NEW    ENGLISH   READER.  pART   I. 

more  mildly,  "Yes,  we  were  his  affectionate  sons,  and  since  , 
my  name  is  on  the  stone,  I  am  satisfied,  brother.  We  have 
not  drawn  together  kindly  of  late  years,  and  perhaps  never 
may  ;  but  I  acknowledge  and  respect  your  worth  ;  and  here, 
before  our  own  friends,  and  before  the  friends  of  our  father, 
with  my  foot  above  his  head,  I  express  my  willingness  to  be 
on  better  terms  with  you  ;  and  if  we  cannot  command  love 
in  our  hearts,  let  us,  at  least,  brother,  bar  out  all  unkindness." 

10.  The  minister,  who  had  attended  the  funeral,  and  had 
something  intrusted  to  him  to  say  publicly  before  he  left  the 
church-yard,  now  came  forward,  and  asked  the  elder  brother 
why  he  spake  not  regarding  this  matter.  He  saw  that  there 
was  something  of  a  cold,  and  sullen  pride  rising  up  in  his 
heart ;  for  not  easily  may  any  man  hope  to  dismiss  from  the 
chamber  of  his  heart,  even  the  vilest  guest,  if  once  cherished 
there.  With  a  solemn,  and  almost  severe  air,  he  looked  up- 
on  the  relenting  man,  and  then,  changing  his  countenance 
into  serenity,  said  gently, — 

"  Bel^olii  how  good  a  thing  it  is, 
And  how  bocoming  well, 
To<;etlipr  such  as  brethren  are^ 
In  unity  to  dwell." 

11.  The  time,  the  place,  and  this  beautiful  expression  of 
natural  sentiment,  quite  overcame  a  heart,  in  which  many 
kind,  if  not  warm  affections  dwelt;  and  the  man  thus  ap- 

Eealed  to,  bowed  down  his  head  and  wept, — "Give  me  your 
and,  brother;" — and  it  was  given,  while  a  murmur  of  satis- 
faction arose  from  all  present,  and  all  hearts  felt  kindlier 
and  more  humanely  toward  each  other. 

12.  As  the  brothers  stood,  fervently  but  composedly,  grasp- 
ing each  other's  hand,  in  the  little  hollow  that  lay  between  , 
the  grave  of  their  mother,  long  since  dead,  and  of  their  fa- 
ther, whose  shroud""  was  happily  not  yet  still,  from  the  fall 
of  dust  to  dust,  the  minister  stood  beside  them  with  a  plea- 
sant countenance,  and  said,  "  I  must  fulfill  the  promise  I 
made  to  your  father  on  his  death-bed.  I  must  read  to  you  a 
few  words  which  his  hand  wrote,  at  an  hour  when  his 
tongue  denied  its  office. 

13.  "I  must  not  say  that  you  did  your  duty  to  your  old 
father;  for  did  he  not  often  beseech  you,  apart  from  one 
another,  to  be  reconciled,  for  your  own  sakes  as  ChristiaDs, 
for  his  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  mother  who  bare  you, 
and,  Stephen,  who  died  that  you  might  be  born  ?  When'  the 
palsy  struck  him  for  the  last  time,  you  were  both  absent,  nor 
was  it  your  fault  that  you  were  not  beside  the  old  man  when 
lie  died. 

a  Shroud,  a  winding  sheet. 


Chap.  VI.  dialogues.  95 

14.  "  As  long  as  sense  continued  with  him  here,  did  he 
think  of  you  two,  and  of  you  two  aJone.  Tears  were  in  his 
eyes, — I  saw  them  there,  and  on  his  cheek  too,  "vvhen  no 
breath  came  froln  his  hps.  Bui  of  this  no  more.  He  died 
with  this  paper  in  his  hand ;  and  he  made  me  know  that  I  • 
was  to  read  it  to  you  over  liis  grave.  I  now  obey  him. — 
"  My  sons,  if  you  will  let  my  bones  lie  quiet  in  the  grave, 
near  the  dust  of  your  mother,  depart  not  from  my  burial, 
till,  in  the  name  of  God  and  Christ,  you  promise  to  love 
one  another  as  you  used  to  do.  Dear  boys,  receive  my  bless^ 
ing." 

15.  Some  turned  their  heads  away  to  hide  the  tears  that 
needed  not  to  be  hidden; — and  when  the  brothers  had  releas- 
ed each  other  from  a  long  and  sobbing  embrace,  many  went 
up  to  them,  and  in  a  single  word  or  two,  expressed  their  joy 
at  tliis  perfect  reconcilement.  The  brothers  themselves 
walked  away  from  the  church-yard,  arm  in  arm,  with  the 
minister  to  the  manse.* 

16.  On  the  following  Sabbath,  they  were  seen  sitting  with 
their  families  in  the  same  pew,  and  it'vras  observed,  that  they 
read  together  from  the  same  Bible  when  the  minister  gave 
out  the  text;  and  that  they  sung  together,  taking  hold  of  the 
same  psalm-book.  The  same  psalm  was  sung,  (given  out  at 
their  own  request.)  of  which  one  verse  had  been  repeated  at 
their  father's  grave; — a  larger  sum  than  usual  was  on  that 
Sabbath  found  in  the  plate  for  the  poor, — for  love  and  charity 
are  sisters.  And  ever  after,  both  during  the  peace  and  the 
troubles  of  this  life,  the  hearts  of  the  brothers  were  as  one, 
and  in  nothing  were  they  divided.  Wilson. 


CHAPTER  VL 

DIALOGUES. 
SECTION    I. 

TVie  Sultan"*  and  Mr.  Howard,  the  Philanthropist.'' 

Sultan.  Englishman,  you  were  invited  hither  to  receive 
public  thanks,  for  our  troops  restored  to  health  by  your  pre- 
scriptions.'^    Ask  a  reward  adequate"  to  your  services. 

a  Manse,  the  parsonage  lionse.  d  Pre-scrip'-tions,  medical  directions  of 

b  Bul'-tan,  a  tide  of  the  Turkish  em-    remedies. 

P^'^f^^-  e  AU'-e-quaie,  equal,  sufficient. 

t  Pnil-an  -thro-pist,  a  person  of  general 

benevolence. 


96  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  pART  I. 

Howard.  Sultan,  the  reward  I  ask,  is,  leave  to  preserve 
more  of  your  people  still. 

^  Suit.  How  more  ?  my  subjects  are  in  health ;  no  contagion 
visits  them. 

HcAV.  The  prisoner  is  your  subject.  There,  misery,  more 
contagious  than  disease,  preys  on  the  lives  of  hundreds:  sen- 
tenced but  to  confinement,  their  doom  is  death.  Immured 
in  damp  and  dreary  vaults,  they  daily  perish;  and  who  can 
tell  but  that,  among  the  many  hapless  sufferers,  there  may  be 
hearts  bent  down  with  penitence,  to  heaven  and  you,  for 
every  slight  offense: — there  may  be  some,  among  the 
wretched  multitude,  e/en  innocent  victims.  Let  me  seek 
them  out;  let  me  save  them  and  you. 

Sul.  Amazement!  retract*  your  application:  curb  this 
weak  pity,  and  accept  our  thanks. 

IIoio.  Restrain  my  pity  : — and  what  can  I  receive  in  re- 
compense for  that  soft  bond  which  links  me  to  the  wretched? 
and,  while  it  sooths  their  sorrow,  repays  me  more  than  all 
the  gifts  an  empire  can  bestow  I — But,  if  it  be  a  virtue  repug- 
nant^ to  your  plan  of  government,  I  apply  not  in  the  name 
of  Pity^  but  of  Justice, 

Sul.  Justice ! 

JIoiD.  The  justice  that  forbids  all,  but  the  worst  of  crimi- 
nals, to  be  denied  that  wholesome  air  the  very  brute  creation 
freely  takes. 

Sul.  Consider  for  whom  you  plead — for  men  (if  not  base 
culprits)  so  misled,  so  depraved,  they  are  dangerous  to  our 
state,  and  deserve  none  of  its  blessings. 

How.  If  not  upon  the  undeserving, — if  not  upon  the  wretch- 
ed wanderer  from  the  paths  of  rectitude, — where  shall 
the  sun  diffuse  his  light,  or  the  clouds  distil  their  dew? 
Where  shall  spring  breathe  fragrance,  or  autumn  pour  its 
plenty? 

Sul.  Sir,  your  sentiments,  still  more  your  character,  excite 
my  curiosity.  They  tell  me  that  in  our  camps  you  visited 
each  sick  man's  bed. — administered  yourself  the  healing 
draught, — encouraged  our  savages  with  the  hope  of  life,  or 
pointed  out  their  better  hope  in  death. — The  widow  speaks 
your  charities,  the  orphan  lisps  your  bounties,  and  the  rough' 
Indian  melts  in  tears  to  bless  you. — I  wish  to  ask  why  you 
have  done  all  this  ? — what  is  it  that  prompts  you  thus  to  be- 
friend the  miserable  and  forlorn? 

How.  It  is  in  vain  to  explain :  the  time  it  would  take  to 
reveal  to  you 

Sul.  Satisfy  my  curiosity  in  writing  then. 

a  Re-tract',  to  recant  5,Re-pug'-nant,  contrary,  inconsistent. 


Chap.  VI.  dialogues.  97 

How.  Nay,  if  you  will  read,  I'll  send  a  book  in  whicn  is 
already  written  why  I  act  thus. 

Sul.  What  book  '?  what  is  it  called  ? 

How.  "  The  Clinstian  Doctrine?^  There  you  will  find  all 
I  have  done  was  but  my  duty. 

Sul.  Your  words  recall  reflections  that  distract  me ;  nor  , 
can  1  bear  the  pressure  on  my  mind,  without  confessing — / 
am  a  Christian!  Mrs.  Inchbald, 

SECTION    II. 

Cadmus'-  and  Hercules,^ 

Herctdes.  Do  you  pretencj  to  sit  as  high  on  Olympus*  as 
Hercules?  Did  you  kill  the  Nemean  lion,  the  Erymanthean 
boar,  the  Lernean  serpent,  and  Stymphalian  birds?  Did  you 
destroy  tyrants  and  robbers? — You  value  yourself  greatly  on 
subduing  one  serpent:  I  did  as  much  as  that  while  I  lay  in 
my  cradle. 

Cadmus.  It  is  not  on  account  of  the  serpent  that  I  boast 
myself  a  greater  benefactor  to  Greece  than  you.  Actions 
should  be  valued  by  their  utility,  rather  than  their  splendor. 
I  taught  Greece  the  art  of  writing,  to  which  laws  owe  their 
precision  and  permanency.  You  subdued  monsters  ;  I  civi- 
lized men.  It  is  fromuntamedpassions,  not  from  wild  beasts, 
that  the  greatest  evils  arise  to  human  society.  By  wisdom, 
by  art,  by  the  united  strength  of  civil  community,  men  have 
been  enabled  to  subdue  the  whole  race  of  lions,  bears,  and 
serpents ;  and,  what  is  more,  to  bind  by  laws  and  wholesome 
regulations,  the  ferocious"^  violence  an\i  dangerous  treachery 
of  the  human  disposition.  Had  lions  been  destroyed  only 
in  single  combat,  men  had  had  but  a  bad  time  of  it; — and 
what  but  laws  could  awe  the  men  who  killed  the  lions  ?  The 
genuine  glory,  the  proper  distinction  of  the  rational  species, 
arise  from  the  perfection  of  the  mental  powers.  Courage  is 
apt  to  be  fierce,  and  strength  is  often  exerted  in  acts  of  op- 
pression ;  but  wisdom  is  the  associate  of  justice.  It  assists 
her  to  form  equal  laws,  to  pursue  right  measures,  to  correct 
^ower,  protect  weakness,  and  to  unite  individuals  in  a  com- 
mon interest  and  general  welfare.  Heroes  may  kill  tyrants, 
but  it  is  wisdom  and  laws  that  prevent  tyranny  and  oppres- 
sion. The  operations  of  policy  far  surpass  the  labors  of  Her- 
cules, preventing  many  evils  which  valor  and  might  cannot 
even  redress.     You  heroes  regard  nothing  but  glory ;  and 

a  Cad'mus,  kingr  of  Thebes,  introduced      c  O-lym'-pus,  a  mountain  in  Greece. 

letters  into  Greece.  d  Fe-ro'-cious,  savage  cruel. 

b  Her'-cu-Ies,  a  heathen  Deity. 

7 


98  '  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  pART   I. 

scarcely  consider  whether  the  conquests  which  raise  your 
fame,  are  really  beneficial  to  your  country.  Unhappy  are 
the  people  w^^io  are  governed  by  valor,  not  directed  by  pru- 
dence, and  not  mitigated  by  the  gentle  arts  ! 

Her.  I  do  not  ex{)ect  to  find  an  admirer  of  my  strenuous 
life,  in  the  man  who  taught  his  countrymen  to  sit  still  and 
read ;  and  to  lose  the  hours  of  youth  and  action  in  idle  spe- 
culation and  the  sport  of  words. 

Cad.  An  ambition  to  have  a  place  m  the  registers  of  fame, 
is  the  Eurystheus*  which  imposes  heroic  labors  on  mankind. 
The  muses  incite  to  action,  as  well  as  entertain  the  hours  of 
repose;  and  I  think  you  should  honor  them  for  presenting 
to  heroes  so  noble  a  recreation,  as  may  prevent  their  taking 
up  the  distaff,  when  they  lay  down  the  club. 

Her.  Witsas  well  as  heroes  can  take  up  the  distaff.  What 
think  you  of  their  thin-spun  systems  of  philosophy,  or  la- 
scivious poems,  or  Milesian  fables  ?  Nay,  what  is  still  worse, 
are  there  not  panegyrics^  on  tyrants,  and  books  that  blas- 
pheme the  gods,  and  perplex  the  natural  sense  of  right  and 
wrong?  I  believe  if  Euiystheus  were  to  set  me  to  work 
again,  he  would  find  me  a  worse  task  than  any  he  imposed  ; 
he  would  make  me  read  over  a  great  library,  and  I  would 
serve  it  as  I  did  the  Hydra,''  I  would  burn  as  I  Avent  on,  that 
one  chimera^^  might  not  rise  from  another,  toplaguemankind. 
1  should  have  valued  myself  more  on  clearing  the  library 
than  on  cleansing  the  Augean  stables. 

Cad.  It  is  in  those  libraries  only,  that  the  memory  of  your 
labor  exists.  The  heroes  of  Marathon,  the  patriots  of  Ther- 
mopylae, owe  their  fame  to  me.  All  the  wise  institutions  of 
lawgivers,  and  all  th^-  doctrines  of  sages,  had  perished  in  the 
ear  like  a  dream  related,  if  letters  had  not  preserved  them. 
O  Hercules !  it  is  not  for  the  man  w^ho  preferred  virtue  to 
pleasure,  to  be  an  enemy  to  the  muses.  Let  Sardanapalus,' 
and  the  silken  sons  of  luxury,  who  have  wasted  life  in  in- 
glorious ease,  despise  the  records  of  action,  Avhich  bear  no 
honorable  testimony  to  their  lives :  but  true  merit,  heroic 
virtue,  should  respect  the  sacred  source  of  lasting  honor. 

Her.  Indeed,  if  writers  employed  themselves  only  in  re- 
cording the  acts  of  great  men,  much  might  be  said  in  theiir 
favor.  But  why  do  they  trouble  people  with  their  medita- 
tions ?  Can  it  be  of  any  consequence  to  the  world  what  an 
idle  man  has  been  thinking  ? 

Cad.  Yes  it  may.     The  most  important  and  extensive  ad- 

a  Eu-rys'-tlte-us,  the  person  employed  b  Pan-e-gyr'-ics,  eulogy,  formal  praise, 
by  JuMO,  the  step  motlior  of  Hercules,  c  Hy'-dra,  a  monster  with  many  heads 
to  task:  him  in  hazardous  undertak-  d  Chi-me'-ra,  a  vain,  idle  fancy, 
ings,  in  the  hope  of  destroying  him.    e  Sar-da-nap'-a-lus,  king  of  Assyria. 


Chap.  VI.  dialogues.  99 

vantages  rrjankind  enjoy,  are  cfreatly  owing  to  men  who  have 
never  quitted  their  closets.  To  them  mankind  are  obliged 
for  the  facility  and  security  of  navigation.  The  invention  of 
the  compass  has  opened  to  them  new  worlds.  The  know- 
ledge of  the  mechanical  powers,  has  enabled  th&m  to  con- 
struct such  wonderful  machines,  as  perform  what  the  united 
labor  of  millions,  by  the  severest  drudgery,  could  not  accom- 
plish. Agriculture,  too,  the  most  useful  of  arts,  has  received 
its  share  of  improvement  from  the  same  source.  Poetry 
likewise  is  of  excellent  use,  to  enable  the  memory  to  retain 
with  more  ease,  and  to  imprint  with  more  energy  upon  the 
heart,  precepts  and  examples  of  virtue.  From  the  little  root 
of  a  few  letters,. science  has  spread  its  branches  over  all  na- 
ture, and  raised  its  head  to  the  heavens.  Some  philosophers 
have  entered  so  far  into  the  counsels  of  Divine  Wisdom,  as 
to  explain  much  of  the  great  operations  of  nature.  The  di- 
mensions and  distances  of  the  planets,  the  causes  of  their 
revolutions,  the  paths  of  comets,  and  the  ebbing  and  flowing 
of  tides,  are  understood  and  explained.  Can  any  thing  raise 
the  glory  of  the  human  species  more,  than  to  see  a  little 
creature,  inhabiting  a  small  spot  amidst  innumerable  worlds, 
taking  a  survey  of  the  universe,  comprehending  its  arrange- 
ment, and  entering  into  the  schemes  of  that  wonderful  con- 
nexion and  correspondence  of  things  so  remote,  and  which 
it  seems  a  great  exertion  of  Omnipotence  to  have  established  ? 
What  a  volume  of  wisdom,  what  a  noble  theology*  do  these 
discoveries  open  to  us?  While  some  superior  geniuses  have 
soared  to  these  sublime  subjects,  other  sagacious  and  diligent 
minds  have  been  inquiring  into  the  most  minute  works  of  the 
Infinite  Artificer :  the  same  care,  the  same  providence,  is  ex- 
erted through  the  whole  3  and  we  should  learn  from  it,  that, 
to  true  wisdom,  utility  and  fitness  appear  perfection,  and 
whatever  is  beneficial  is  noble. 

Her.  I  approve  of  science  as  far  as  it  is  assistant  to  action. 
I  like  the  improvement  of  navigation,  and  the  discovery  of 
the  greater  part  of  the  globe,  because  it  opens  a  wider  field 
for  the  master  spirits  of  the  world  to  bustle  in. 

Cad.  There  spoke  the  soul  of  Hercules,  But  if  learned 
men  are  to  be  esteemed  for  the  assistance  they  give  to  active 
minds  in  their  schemes,  they  are  not  less  to  be  valued  for  their 
endeavors  to  give  them  a  right  direction,  and  moderate  their 
too  ofreat  ardor.  The  study  of  history  will  teach  the  legisla- 
tor by  what  means  states  have  become  powerful ;  and  in  the 
private  citizen,  they  will  inculcate^  the  love  of  liberty  and 
order.     The  writings  of  sages  point  out  a  private  path  of 

o  The-or-o-gy,  the  science  of  DiTinity.    b  In-cul'-cate,  to  urge. 


100  NEW    ENGLISH    HEADER.  pART   I. 

virtue ;  and  show  that  the  best  emi)ire  is  self-government, 
and  that  subduing  our  passions  is  the  noblest  of  conquests. 

Hnt\  The  true  spirit  of  heroism  aetsby  a  generous  impulse, 
and  Avants  neither  the  experience  of  history,  nor  the  doctrines 
of  })hi!osophers  to  direct  it.  But  do  not  arts  and  sciences 
render  men  eifenfjinate,  luxurious,  and  inactive?  and  can  you 
deny  that  wit  and  learning  are  often  made  subservient  to  very 
bad  purposes? 

Cad.  1  will  own  that  there  are  some  natures  so  happily 
formed,  they  scarcely  v/ant  the  assistance  of  a  master,  and 
the  rules  of  art,  to  give  ihem  force  or  grace  in  every  thing 
they  do.  But  these  fiivored  geniuses  are  few.  As  learning 
flourishes  only  where  ease,  plenty,  and  mild  government  sub- 
sist, in  so  nch  a  soil,  and  under  so  soft  a  climate,  the  weeds 
of  luxury  will  spring  up  amf}ng  the  flowers  of  art:  but  the 
spontaneous*  weeds  would  grow  more  rank,  if  they  were  al- 
lowed the  undisturbed  posses^io.n  of  the  field.  Letters  keep 
a  fruiral,  temperate  nat'on  from  growing  ferocious,  a  rich  one 
from  becoming  entirely  sensual  and  debauched.  Every  gift 
of  heaven  is  sometimes  abused  ;  but  good  sense  and  fine  ta- 
lents, by  a  natural  law,  gravitate^  toward  virtue.  Accidents 
mav  drive  them  out  of  their  proper  direction;  but  such  ac- 
cidents are  an  alarming  omen,'^  and  of  dire  portent  to  the 
time?.  For  if  virtue  cannot  keep  to  her  allegiance  those  men, 
who  in  their  hearts  confess  her  divine  right,  and  know  the 
value  of  her  laws,  on  whose  fidelity  and  obedience  can  she 
depend  ?  May  such  geniuses  never  descend  to  flatter  vice, 
encourage  folly,*or  propagate  irreligion;  but  exert  all  their 
powers  in  the  service  of  virtue,  and  celebrate  the  noble  choice 
of  those,  who  like  Hercules  preferred  her  to  pleasure  ! 

Lyitellon. 

SECTION   III. 

Lord  Bacow^  and  Shakspeare.* 

Shakspeare.  Near  to  Castalia  there  bubbles  a  fountain  of 
petrifying'  water,  wherein  the  Muses  are  wont  to  dip  what- 
ever posies  have  met  the  approval  of  Apollo ;?  so  that  the 
slender  foliage,  which  originally  sprung  forth  in  the  cherish- 
ing brain  of  a  true  poet,  becomes  hardened  in  all  its  leaves, 
and  glitters  as  if  it  were  carved  out  of  rubies  and  emeralds. 
The  elements  have  afterwards  no  power  over  it. 

a  Spoata-ne'-ous,  voluntai'y.  e  Shaks'-peare,  an  English  poet. 

h  Ovav'-i  tafe,  to  tend  to  the  center.  /  Pet'-ri-fy-ing,  hardning  into  stone 

c  O'-nion,  a  si<:;ti.  g  A-pol'-lo,  a  heathen  deity. 
d  lia'coii,  an  English  pliilosopher. 


Chap.  VI.  dialogues.  -   (01 

Bacon.  Such.  Mr.  Shakspeare,  will  be  the -fortune  of  your 
own  productions.  '  '  *•"  •      ■]'"   '.    *  '»     -■'", 

S/tak.  Ah,  my  lord!  do  not  encourage  me  to  hope  so.  1 
am  but  a  poor  unlettered  man,  who  seizes  whatever  rude  con- 
ceits his  own  natural  vein  supplies  him  with,  upon  the  en- 
forcement of  haste  and  necessity  ;  and  therefore  I  fear  that 
sucfi  as  are  o(  deeper  studies  than  myself,  will  find  many 
Haws  in  my  handiwork  to  lau^h  at,  both  now  and  hereafter. 

J3ac.  He  that  can  make  the  multitude  laugh  and  weep  as 
you  do,  need  not  fear  scholars. — A  head,  naturally  fertile,  is 
worth  many  libraries,  inasmuch  as  a  tree  is  more  valuable 
than  a  basket  of  fruit,  or  a  good  hawk  better  than  a  bag  full 
of  game,  or  the  little  purse,  which  a  fairy  gave  to  Fortunatus, 
more  inexhausihle  than  all  the  coifers  in  the  treasury.  More 
scholarship  might  have  sharpened  your  judgment,  hut  the 
particulars  whereof  a  character  is  composed,  are  better  as- 
sembled by  force  of  imagination  than  of  judgment,  which  al- 
though it  perceive  coherences,''  cannot  summon  up  materials, 
nor  melt  them  into  a  compound,  with  that  felicity  which  be- 
longs to  imagination  alone. 

S/iak.  My  lord,  thus  far  I  know,  that  the  first  conception 
of  a  character  in  my  mind,  is  always  ensfendered  by  chance 
and  accident.  We  shall  suppose,  for  instance,  that  I  am  sit- 
ting in  a  tap-room,  or  standing  in  a  tennis-court.  The  beha- 
vior of  some  one  fixes  my  attention.  I  note  his  dress,  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  the  turn  of  his  countenance,  the  drinks 
he  cnPs  for,  his  questions  and  retorts,  the  fashion  of  iiis  per- 
son, and,  in  brief,  the  whole  out-goings  and  in-comings  of  the 
man. —  These  grounds  of  speculation  being  cherished  and  re- 
volved in  my  fancy,  it  becomes  straightway  possessed  with  a 
swarm  of  conclusions  and  beliefs  concerning  the  individual. 
In  walking  hotne,  I  picture  out  to  myself,  what  would  be  fit- 
ling  for  him  to  say  or  do  upon  any  given  occasion,  and  the.^ 
fantasies''  being  recalled  at  some  after  period,  when  1  am  wn 
ting  a  play,  shape  themselves  into  divers  mannikins.*^  v/hn 
are  not  long  of  being  nursed  into  life.  Thus  comes  fortn 
Shallow,  and  Slender,  and  Mercutio,  and  Sir  Andrew  Ague- 
cheek. 

Bac.  These  are  characters  which  may  be  found  alive  in 
the  streets.  But  how  frame  you  such  interlocutors'^  as  Bru- 
tus and  Coriolanus  ? 

S/iuk.  By  searching  histories,  in  the  first  place,  my  lord, 
for  the  germ.  The  filling  up  afterwards  comes  rather  from 
feeling  than  observation.     I  turn  myself  into  a  Brutus  or  a 

o  Oo-he'-ren-ccji,  union  of  parts.  d  In-terloc'-u-ter,  one  who  speaks  in 

b  Faii'-ta-sies,  conceits.  disilogue. 

Man'-nj-kiiis,  lilile  men,  dwarfs. 


10^  NEW  ENGLISH  READER.  PaRT  1. 

Coriolanus  for  the  time  ;  and  can,  at  least  in  fancy,  partake 
safHc'ieiit^y^  of  the  nobleness  of  their  nature,  to  put  propei 
words  Into  their  inouths.  Observation  will  not  supply  the 
poet  with  every  thing.  He  must  have  a  stock  of  exalted  sen- 
timents in  his  own  mind. 

Bac.  In  truth,  Mr.  ^hakspeare,  you  have  observed  the 
world  so  well,  and  so  widely,  that  I  can  scarcely  believe  you 
ever  shut  your  eyes.  I,  too,  although  much  engrossed  with 
other  studies,  am,  in  part,  an  observer  of  mankind.  Their 
dispositions,  and  the  causes  of  their  good  or  bad  fortune,  can- 
not w^ell  be  overlooked,  even  by  the  most  devoted  questioner 
of  physical  nature.  But  note  the  diflerence  of  habitudes.  No 
sooner  have  I  observed  and  got  hold  of  particulars,  than  they 
are  taken  up  by  my  judgment  to  be  commented  upon,  and 
resolved  into  general  laws.  Your  imagination  keeps  them 
to  make  pictures  of.  My  judgment,  if  she  find  them  to  be 
comprehended  under  something  already  known  by  her,  lets 
them  drop,  and  forgets  them ;  for  which  reason,  a  certain 
book  of  essays,  w^hich  I  am  WTiting,  will  be  small  in  bulk, 
but  I  trust  not  light  in  substance. — Thus  do  men  severally 
follow  their  inborn  dispositions. 

Shale.  Every  word  of  your  lordship^s,  will  be  an  adage*  to 
after  times.  For  my  part,  I  know  my  own  place,  and  aspire 
not  after  the  abstruser  studies, — although  I  can  give  wisdom 
a  welcome  when  she  comes  in  my  way.  But  the  inborn  dis- 
positions, as  your  lordship  has  said,  nmst  not  be  warped  from 
their  natural  bent,  otherwise  nothing  but  sterility''  will  reniuin 
behind.  A  leg  cannot  be  changed  into  an  arm.  Among  stage- 
players,  our  first  object  is  to  exercise  a  new  candidate,  until 
we  discover  where  his  vein  lies. 

Bac.  I  am  told  that  you  do  not  invent  the  plots  of  your 
own  plays,  but  generally  borrow  them  from  some  common 
book  of  stories,  such  as  Bocaccio's  Decameron,  or  Cynthio's 
Novels.  That  practice  must  save  a  great  expenditure  of 
thought  and  contrivance. 

Skak.  It  does,  my  lord.  I  lack  patience  to  invent  the 
vliole  from  the  foundation. 

Bac.  If  I  guess  aright,  there  is  nothing  so  hard  and  trouble- 
some, as  the  mvention  of  coherent  incidents;  and  yet,  me- 
hmks,  after  it  is  accomplished,  it  does  not  show  so  high  a 
strain  of  wit  as  that  which  paints  separate  characters  and 
objects  well.  Dexterity  would  achieve  the  making  of  a  plot 
better  than  genius,  which  delights  not  so  much  in  tracing  a 
curious  connexion  among  events,  as  in  adorning  a  fanta-^y 
with  bright  colors,  and  eking  it  out  with  suitable  appendages. 

a  Ad'age.  an  old  saying.  b  Ste-ril'-i-ty,  barrenneaa 


Chap.  VI.  dialogues.  103 

Homer's  plot  hangs  but  illy  together.  It  is  indeed  no  better 
than  a  string  of  popular  fables  and  superstitions,  caught  up 
from  among  the  Greeks ;  and  I  believe  that  those  who  in  the 
time  of  Pisistratus*  collected  this  poem,  did  more  than  him- 
self to  digest  its  particulars.  His  praise  must  therefore. be 
found  in  This,  that  he  reconceived,  amplified,^  and  set  forth, 
what  was  dimly  and  poorly  conceived  by  common  men. 

Shak.  My  knowledge  of  the  tongues  is  but  small;  on  which 
account  I  have  read  ancient  authors  mostly  at  second  hand. 
I  remember,  when  I  first  came  to  London,  and  began  to  be  a 
hanger-on  at  the  theaters,  a  great  desire  grew  in  me  for  more 
learning  than  had  fallen  to  my  share  at  Stratford  ;  but  fickle- 
ness and  impatience,  and  the  bewilderment  caused  by  new 
objects,  dispersed  that  wish  into  empty  air.  Ah,  my  lord,  you 
cannot  conceive  what  a  strange  thing  it  was  for  so  impress- 
ible a  rustic,  to  find  himself  turned  loose  in  the  midst  of  Ba- 
bel !  My  f^iculties  wrought  to  such  a  degree,  that  I  was  in  a 
dream  all  day  long.  My  bent  was  not  then  toward  comedy, 
for  most  objects  seemed  noble  and  of  much  consideration. 
The  music  at  the  theater  ravished  my  young  heart;  and  amidst 
the  goodly  company  of  spectators,  I  beheld,  afar  off,  beauties 
who  seemed  to  out-paragon  Cleopatra  of  Egypt.  Some  of 
these  primitive  fooleries  were  afterwards  woven  into  Romeo 
and  Juliet. 

Bac.  Your  Julius  Caesar,  and  your  Richard  the  Third  please 
me  better.  From  my  youth  upward  I  have  had  a  brain  po- 
litic and  discriminative,  and  less  prone  to  marveling  and 
dreaming,  than  to  scrutiny.  Some  part  of  my  juvenile  time 
was  spent  at  the  court  of  France,  with  our  embassador,  Sir 
Amias  Paulet ;  and,  to  speak  the  truth,  although  I  was  sur- 
rounded ^Y  many  dames  of  high  birth  and  rare  beauty,  I  car- 
ried oftener  Machiavelli*^  in  my  pocket  than  a  book  of  madri- 
gals;'^ and  heeded  not  although  these  wantons  made  sport  of 
my  grave  and  scholar-like  demeanor.  When  they  would  draw 
me  forth  to  an  encounter  of  their  wit,  I  paid  them  off  with 
flatteries,  till  they  forgot  their  aim  in  thinking  of  themselves. 
Michael  Angelo  said  of  Painting,  that  she  was  jealous,  and 
required  the  whole  man  undivided.  I  was  aware  how  much 
more  truly  the  same  thing  might  be  said  of  Philosophy,  and 
therefore  cared  not  how  much  the  ruddy  complexion  of  my 
youth  was  sullied  over  the  midnight  lamp,  or  my  outward 
comeliness  sacrificed  to  my  inward  advancement, 

a  Pi-sis'-tra-tus.  tyrant  of  Athens.  c  Pron.  Mac-e-a-TcU'-ye,  a  leRrned  au« 

b  Am  -pU-fi-cil,  enlarged.  thor  of  Florence 

d  Mad'.ri-gals,  pastoral  poema. 


104  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT  L 

CHAPTER  VII. 

PUBLIC  SPEECHES. 
SECTION  I. 

The  Nature  of  Eloquence. 

1.  When  public  bodies  are  to  be  addressed  on  momentous 
occasions,  when  great  interests  are  at  stake,  and  strong  pas- 
sions excitedj  nothing  is  valuable  in  speech,  fartlier  than  it 
is  connected  with  high  intellectual  and  moral  endowments.* 
Clearness,  force,  and  earnfstness,  are  the  qualities  which 
produce  conviction.  True  eloquence,  indeed,  does  not  con- 
sist in  speech.  It  cannot  be  brought  from  far.  Labor  and 
learning  may  toil  for  it,  but  they  will  toil  in  vain. 

2.  Words  and  phrases  may  ])e  marshaled  in  every  way, 
but  they  cannot  compass  it.  It  must  exist  in  the  man,  in 
the  subject,  and  in  the  occasion.  Afiected  passion,  intense 
expression,  the  pomp  of  declamation,  all  may  aspire  after  it ; 
they  cannot  reach  it.  It  comes,  if  it  come  at  all,  like  the 
outbreaking  of  a  fountain  from  the  earth,  or  the  bursting 
forth  of  volcanic  fires,  with  spontaneous,  original,  native 
force. 

3.  The  graces  taught  in  the  schools,  the  costly  ornaments 
ancf  studied  contrivances  of  speech,  shock  and  disgust  men, 
when  their  own  lives,  and  the  fate  of  their  wives,  their 
children,  and  their  country,  hang  on  the  decision  of  the 
hour.  Then,  words  have  lost  their  power,  rhetoric^  is  vain, 
and  all  elaborate"  oratory,  contemptible.  Even  genius  itself 
then  feels  rebuked,  and  subdued,  as  in  the  presence  of  higher 
qualities. 

4.  Then  patriotism  is  eloquent;  then  self  devotion  is  elo- 
quent. The  clear  conception,  out-running  the  deductions 
of  logic,**  the  high  purpose,  the  firm  resolve,  the  dauntless 
spirit  speaking  on  the  tongue,  beaming  from  the  eye,  inform- 
ing every  feature,  and  urging  the  whole  man  onward,  right 
onward  to  his  object, — this  is  eloquence. 

SECTION    II. 

The  Perfect  Orator. 

1.  Imagine  to  yourselves  a  Demosthenes,  addressing  the 
most  illustrious  assembly  in  the  world,  upon  a  point  where- 
on the  fate  of  the  most  illustrious  of  nations  depended. —  ^ 

o  En-dow'-ments,  funds,  gifts.  «  E-lab'-o-rate,  finished  with  exactness. 

'i  Rhet'-o-ric,  the  art  of  speaking  d  Log'-ic,  the  art  of  rcaaoninj. 


Chap.  YII.  public  spkechks.  i05 

How  awful  such  a  meeting  !— how  vast  the  subject  \—By  the 
power  of  liis  eloquence  — "tlie  augustneiss''  of  the  assembly  is 
lost  in  the  dignity  of  the  orator;  and  the  importance  of  the 
l^ibjectj  for  a  while,  superseded'^  by  the  admiration  of  liis 
talents. 

2.  With  what  strength  of  argument,  with  what  powers  of 
the  fancy,  with  what  emotions  of  the  heart,  does  he  assault 

nd  subjugate  the  whole  man;  and,  at  once,  captivate  his 
leason,  his  imagination,  and  his  passions  !  To  effect  this, 
must  be  the  utmost  effort  of  the  most  improved  state  of 
human  nature. — Not  a  faculty  that  he  possesses,  but  is  here 
exerted  to  its  highest  pitch.  All  his  internal  powers  are 
at  work  ;  all  his  external,  testify  their  energies. 

3.  Wiihin,  the  memory,  the  fancy,  the  judgment,  the  pas- 
sions, are  all  busy ;  without,  every  muscle,  every  nerve  is 
exerted  ; — not  a  feature,  not  a  limb,  but  speaks.  The  organs 
of  the  body,  attuned  to  the  exertions  of  the  mind,  through 
the  kindred  organs  of  the  hearers,  instantaneously  vibrate 
those  energies  from  soul  to  soul.  Notwithstanding  the  di- 
versity of  "minds  in  such  a  multitude,  by  tlie  lightnjnir  of 
eloquence  they  are  melttid  into  one  mass; — the  whole  assem- 
bly, actuated  in  one  and  the  same  way,  become,  as  it  were, 
but  one  man,  and  have  but  one  voice — The  universal  cry  is 
— Lei  f{s  warch  ap'ainsl  Philij),  let  us Jight  for  our  liherti.^s — 
Ut  us  conquer  or  die.  k>!hei'i(la7i. 

SECTION  ni. 
Panegyric  on  the  eloquence  of  Mr.  Slieridan. 

1.  Mr.  Sheridan  has  this  day  surprised  the  thousands 
who  hung  with  rapture  on  his  accents,  by  sur-h  an  array  <»f 
talents,  such  an  exhibition  of  capacity,  such  a  display  of  pow- 
ers, as  are  unparalleled  in  the  annals  of  oratory  ; — a  display 

hat  reflected  the  highest  honor  on  himself— kister  upon  let- 
ers — renown  upon  parliament — glory  upon  the  country. 

2.  Of  all  species  of  rlietoric,  of  every  kind  of  eloquence, 
that  h;is  been  witnessed  or  recorded,  cither  in  ancient  or  mo- 
dern times  ;  whatever  the  acuteness  of  the  bar,  the  dienit)'- 
of  the  senate,  the  solidity  of  the  judgment-seat,  and  the 
'acred  morality  of  the  pulpits  have  hitherto  furnished; 
nothing  has  equaled  what  we  have  this  day  heard  in  West- 
minster hall. 

3.  No  holy  seer«=  of  religion,  no  statesman,  no  orator,  no 

c  /  n  f;n«;t'-nc«:s,  majesty,  grandeur.  c  S-scr,  «  propheL 

♦  Super-se'-deil,  displacw. 


106  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    I. 

man  of  any  literary  description  whatever,  has  come  up,  in 
the  one  instance  to  the  pure  sentiments  of  morality,  or  in 
the  other,  to  that  variety  of  knowledge,  force  of  imagina- 
tion, propriety  and  vivacity  of  allusion,  beauty  and  elegance 
of  diction,"^  strength  and  copiousness  of  style,  pathos  and 
sublimity  of  conception,  to  which  we  tliis  day  listened  with 
ardor  and  admiration.  From  poetry  up  to  eloquence  there 
is  not  a  species  of  composition,  of  which  a  complete  and  per- 
fect specimen  might  not,  from  that  single  speech,  be  culled 
and  collected.  Burke, 


SECTION    IV. 

Extract  from  Mr.  PitOs  Speech  in  the  British  Parlia- 
7}ient,^  Jan.  20,  1775. 

1.  When  your  lordships  look  at  the  papers  transmitted  to 
us  from  America, — when  you  consider  their  decency,  firm- 
ness and  wisdom, — you  cannot  but  respect  their  cause,  and 
wish  to  make  it  your  own.  For  myself,  I  must  declare  and 
avow,  that  in  ail  my  reading  and  observation,  (and  it  has 
been  my  favorite  study  :  1  have  read  Thucydides,*^  and  have 
studied  and  admired  the  master-spirits  of  the  world,)  I  say 
I  must  declare,  that  for  solidity  of  reasoning,  force  of  saga- 
city, and  wisdom  of  conclusion,  under  such  a  complication  of 
difficult  circumstances,  no  nation  nor  body  of  men,  can 
stand  in  preference  to  the  General  Congress  at  Philadeijjhia. 

2.  1  trust  it  is  obvious'^  to  your  lordships,  that  all  attempts 
to  impose  servitude  upon  such  men, — to  establish  despotism* 
over  such  a  mighty  continental  nation,  must  be  vain,  must 
be  fatal.  We  shall  be  forced,  ultimately,  to  retract ;  let  us 
retract  while  we  can,  and  not  when  Ave  must.  1  say  Ave  must 
necessarily  undo  these  violent  and  oppressive  acts.  They 
MUST  be  repealled.  You  will  repeal  them.  I  pledge  myself 
for  it,  that  you  will  in  the  end  repeal  them.  1  stake  my  re- 
putation on  it: — I  will  consent  to  be  taken  for  an  idiot,  if 
they  are  not  finally  repealed. 

3.  Avoid,  then,  this  humiliating,  disgraceful  necessity. 
With  a  dignity  becoming  your  exalted  situation,  make  the 
first  advances  to  concord,  to  peace  and  happiness:  for  it  is 
your  true  dignity  to  act  with  prudence  and  justice.  That  you 
should  first  concede,  is  obvious  from  sound  and  rational 
policy.  Concession  comes  with  a  better  grace,  and  more  salu- 

a  Dic'-tJon,  manner  of  expression.  c  Thu-cyd'-i-dea,  a  Greek  nistorian, 

b  Par'-lia-ment,  the  legiaiature  of  Great    d  Ob'-vi-'ous,  evident,  plain. 
Britatin.  e  Des'-po-iism,  aosolute  power. 


Chap.  VII.  public  speeches.  ]07 

tary  eflects,  frora  superior  power;  it  reconciles  superiority 
of  power  with  the  feelings  of  men;  and  establishes  solid 
confidence  on  the  foundation  of  affection  and  gratitude. 

4.  Every  motive,  therefore,  of  justice  and  of  policy,  of 
dignity  and  of  prudence,  urges  you  to  allay  the  ferment  in 
America,  by  a  removal  of  your  troops  from  Boston, — by  a 
repeal  of  your  acts  of  Parliament,  and  by  demonstration  of 
amicable*  dispositions  towards  your  colonies.  On  tlje  one 
hand,  every  danger  and  every  hazard  impend,  to  deter  you 
from  per.scverance  in  yojar  present  ruinous  measures. — 
Foreign  war  hanging:  over  your  heads  by  a  slight  and  britile 
thread;  France  and  Spain  watching  your  conduct,  and  wait- 
ing for  the  maturity  of  your  errors,  with  a  vigilant  eye  to 
America  and  the  temper  of  your  colonies,  more  than  to  their 
own  concerns,  be  they  what  they  may. 

5.  To  conclude,  my  lords,  if  the  ministers  thus  persevere 
in  misadvising  and  misleading  the  King,  I  will  not  say,  that 
they  can  alienate^  the  affections  of  his  subjects  from  his 
crown  ;  but  I  will  affirm,  that  they  will  make  the  crown  not 
worth  his  wearing:  I  will  not  say  that  the  King  is  betrayed  ; 
but  I  will  pronounce,  that  the  kingdom^is  undone. 

SECTION    V. 

Extract  of  a  Speech  of  Patrick  Henry ^  before  a  Conven- 
tion of  Delegates  for  the  several  counties  and  corpora- 
tions of  Virginia^  in  March,  1775. 

1.  Mr.  Henry  rose  with  a  majesty  unusual  to  him  in  an 
exordium, "=  and  with  all  that  self-possession  by  which  he  was 
so  invariably  distinguished.  '*No  man,"  he  said,  •' tiiought 
more  highly  tiian  he  did,  of  the  patriotism,  as  well  as  abilities, 
of  the  very  worthy  gentlemen  who  had  just  addressed  the 
house.  But  different  men  often  saw  the  same  subject  in  dif- 
ferent lights;  and,  therefore,  he  hoped  it  would  not  be  thought 
disrespectful  to  those  gentlemen,  if,  entertaining  as  he  did, 
opinions  of  a  character  very  opposite  to  theirs,  he  should 
speak  forth  his  sentiments  freely,  and  without  reserve. 

2.  This  was  no  time  for  ceremony.  The  question  before 
the  house  was  one  of  awful  moment  to  this  country.  For  his 
own  part,  he  considered  it  as  nothing  less  than  a  question  of 
freedom  or  slavery.  And  in  proportion  to  the  magnitude  of 
the  subject,  ought  to  be  the  freedom  of  the  debate.  It  was  only 
in  this  way  that  they  could  hope  to  arrive  at  truth,  and  fullil 
the  great  responsibility*  which  they  held  to  God  and  their 

o  Am'-i-ca-ble,  peaceable.  c  Ex-or'-di-um.  introduction. 

b  A'-lien-aie,  to  estrange.  d  Re-spons'-i-bil-i-ty,  liability  to  pay. 


108  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  pART   I. 

country.  Should  be  keep  back  his  opinions  at  such  a  time, 
through  fear  of  giving  oflense,  he  should  consider  himself  as 
guilty  of  treason  toward  his  country,  and  of  an  act  of  disloy- 
alty toward  the  Majesty  of  Heaven,  which  he  revered  above 
all  earthly  kings. 

3.  "Mr.  President,  it  is  natural  to  maji  to  indulge  in  the 
illusions*  of  hope.  We  are  apt  to  shut  our  eyes  against  a 
painful  truth,  and  listen  to  the  song  of  that  syren, ^  till  she 
transforms  us  into  beasts.  Is  this  the  part  of  wise  men,  en- 
gaged in  a  great  and  arduous*^  struggle  for  liberty  ?  Were  we 
disposed  to  be  of  the  number  of  tliose,  who  having  eyes,  see 
not,  and  having  ears,  hear  not  the  things  which  so  nearly 
concern  their  temporal  salvation?  For  his  part,  whatever  an- 
guish of  spirit  it  might  cost,  he  was  willing  to  know  the 
whole  truth;  to  know  the  worst;  and  to  provide  for  it. 

4.  "  He  had  but  one  lamp  by  which  his  feet  were  guided ; 
and  that  was,  the  lamp  of  experience.  He  knew  of  no  way 
of  judging  of  the  future  but  by  the  past.  And  judging  by  the 
past,  he  wished  to  know  what  there  had  been  in  the  conduct 
of  the  British  ministry,  for  the  last  ten  years,  to  justify  those 
hopes,  with  which  gentlemen  had  been  pleased  to  solace  them- 
selves and  the  house?  Is  it  that  insidious'*  smile  with  which 
our  petiiion  has  been  lately  received?  Trust  it  not,  sir;  it 
will  prove  a  snare  to  your  feet.  SuHer  not  yourselves  to  be 
betrayed  with  a  kiss.  Ask  yourselves  how  this  gracious  re- 
ception of  our  petition  comports  witlt  those  warlike  prepa- 
rations, which  cover  our  waters  and  darken  our  land. 

5.  "  Are  fleets  and  armies  necessary  to  a  work  of  love  and 
reconciliation  ?  Have  we  shown  ourselves  so  unwilling  to  be 
reconciled, that  force  must  be  called  in  to  win  back  our  love? 
Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves,  sir.  These  are  the  implements 
of  war  and  subjugation, — the  last  argument  to  which  kings 
resort.  I  ask  gentlemen,  sir,  w^hat  means  this  martial  array, 
if  its  purpose  be  not  to  force  us  to  submission  ?  Can  gentle- 
men assign  any  other  possible  motive  for  it?  Has  Great 
Britain  any  enemy  in  this  quarter  of  the  world,  to  call  for 
all  this  accumulation  of  navies  and  armies? 

6.  "  No,  sir,  she  has  none.  They  are  meant  for  us :  they 
can  be  meant  for  no  other.  They  are  sent  over  to  bind  and 
1-ivet  upon  us  those  chains,  which  the  British  ministry  have 
been  so  long  forging.  And  what  have  we  to  oppose  to  them  ? 
Shall  we  try  argument?  Sir,  we  have  been  trying  that  for 
the  last  ten  years.  Have  w^e  any  thing  new  to  offer  upon  the 
subject?    Nothing.     We  have  held  tlie  subject  up  in  every 

a  ll-lu'-sions,  deceptiYo  appearances.       e  Ar'-duous,  difficult 
b  Sy'-ren,  a  goddess  who  enticed  men    d  In-siU'-i-ous,  deceitful,  »ly. 
by  the  charms  of  music. 


Chap.  VII.  public  speehces.  109 

light  of  Avhich  it  is  capable  ;  but  it  has  been  all  in  vain.  Shall 
we  resort  to  entreaty  and  humble  supplication?  What  terms 
shall  we  find,  which  have  not  been  already  exhausted? 

7.  "  Let  us  not,  I  beseech  you,  sir,  deceive  ourselves  longer. 
We  have  done  every  thing  that  could  be  done,  to  avert-ihe 
storm  which  is  now  coming  on.  We  have  petitioned  ;  we 
have  remonstrated;*  we  have  supplicated;^  we  have  prostra- 
ted ourselves  before  the  throne,  and  have  implored  its  inter- 
position, to  arrest  the  tyrannical  hands  of  the  ministry  and 
parliament.  Our  petitions  have  been  slighted;  our  remon- 
strances have  produced  additional  violence  and  insult ;  our 
supplications  have  been  disregarded;  and  we  have  been 
spurned  with  contempt,  from  the  foot  of  the  throne. 

S.  "In  vain,  after  these  things,  may  we  indulge  the  fond 
hope  of  peace  and  reconciliation.  There  is  no  longer  any 
room  for  hope.  If  we  wish  to  be  free, — if  we  mean  to  pre 
serve  inviolate  those  inestimable  privileges  for  which  we  have 
been  so  long  contending, — if  we  mean  not  basely  to  abandon 
the  noble  struggle  in  which  we  have  been  so  long  engaged, 
and  v/hich  we  have  pledged  ourselves  never  to  abandon,  un- 
till  the  glorious  object  of  our  contest  shall  be  obtained, — we 
must  fight! — I  repeat  it,  sir,  we  must  fight!  I  An  appeal  to 
arms,  and  to  the  God  of  Hosts,  is  all  that  is  left  us! 

9.  "  They  tell  us,  sir,  that  we  are  weak — unable  to  cope  with 
so  formidable  an  adversary.  But  when  shall  we  be  stronger? 
W^ili  it  be  next  week,  or  the  next  year?  "Will  it  be  when  we 
are  totally  disarmed,  and  when  a  British  guard  shall  be  sta- 
tioned in  every  house?  Shall  we  gather  strength  by  irreso- 
lution and  inaction  ?  Shall  we  acquire  the  means  of  effectual 
resistance  by  lying  supinely  on  our  backs,  and  hugging  the 
delusive  phantom  of  hope  until  our  enemies  shall  have  bound 
us,  hand  and  foot  ?  Sir,  we  are  not  weak,  if  we  make  a  pro- 
per use  of  those  means  which  the  God  of  nature  has  placed 
in  our  power.  Three  millions  of  people,  armed  in  the  holy 
cause  of  liberty,  and  in  such  a  country  as  that  which  we  pos- 
sess, are  invincible*^  by  any  force  which  our  enemy  can  send 
against  us. 

10.  "  Besides,  sir,  we  shall  not  fight  our  battles  alone.  There 
i^  a  just  God,  who  presides  over  the  destinies  of  nations,  and 
who  will  raise  up  friends  to  fight  our  battles  for  us.  The  bat- 
tle, sir,  is  not  to  the  strong  alone ;  it  is  to  the  vigilant,  the  ac- 
tive, the  brave.  Besides,  sir,  we  have  no  election.^  If  we  were 
base  enough  to  desire  it,  it  is  now  too  late  to  retire  from  the 
contest.    There  is  no  retreat,  but  in  submission  and  slavery  ! 

a  Re-mon'-stra-ted,    urged    reasons    c  In-vin'-ci-ble,  cannot  be  conquered. 

against.  d  E-lec'-tion,  choice,  preference. 

b  Sup'-pli-ca-ted,  entreated,  beseeched. 


110  NEW  ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT  1. 

Our  chains  are  forged.  Their  clanking  may  be  heard  on  the 
plains  of  Boston  1  The  war  is  inevitable" — and  let  it  come  !  I 
I  repeat  it,  sir,  let  it  come  ! ! ! 

1 1.  "  It  is  in  vain,  sir,  to  extenuate^'  the  matter.  Gentlemen 
may  cry  peace — peace, — but  there  is  no  peace.  The  war  is 
actually  begun  !  The  next  gale  that  sweeps  from  the  north, 
will  bring  to  our  ears  the  clash  of  resounding  arms!  Our 
brethren  are  already  in  the  field  !  Why  stand  we  here  idle? 
What  is  it  that  gentlemen  wish?  What  would  they  have?  Is 
life  so  dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to  be  purchased  at  the  price 
of  chains  and  slavery  ?  Forbid  it,  Almighty  God  ! — I  know 
not  what  course  others  may  take ;  but  as  for  me,"  cried  he, 
with  both  his  arms  extended  aloft,  his  brows  knit,  every  fea- 
ture marlied  with  the  resolute  purpose  of  his  soul,  and  his 
voice  swelled  to  its  loudest  note  of  exclamation, — "give  me 
liberty,  or  give  me  death !" 

12.  He  took  his  seat.  No  murmur  of  applause  was  heard. 
The  effect  was  too  deep.  After  the  trance  of  a  moment,  se- 
veral members  started  from  their  seats.  The  cry,  "to  arms,-' 
seemed  to  quiver  on  every  lip,  and  gleam  from  every  eye ! 
Richard  H.  Lee  arose  and  supported  Mr.  Henry,with  his  usual 
spirit  and  elegance.  But  his  melody  was  lost  amidst  the  agi- 
tation of  that  ocean,  which  the  master  spirit  of  the  storm  had 
lifted  up  on  high.  That  supernatural  voice  still  sounded  in 
their  ears,  and  shivered  along  their  arteries.  They  heard,  in 
every  pause,  the  cry  of  liberty  or  death.  They  became  impa- 
tient of  speech — their  souls  were  on  fire  for  action. —  IVirt. 

SECTION    VI. 

Extract  of  a  Discourse  in  Commemoration^  of  the  Lives 
and  Services  of  John  Adams  and  Thomas  Jefferson^ 
delivered  in  Boston^  3d  August^  1826. 

1.  In  July,  1776,  our  controversy^  with  Great  Britain  had 
passed  the  stage  of  argument.  An  appeal  had  been  made  to 
force,  and  opposing  armies  were  in  the  field.  Congress  then 
was  to  decide,  whether  the  tie,  which  had  so  long  bound  us 
to  the  parent  state,  was  to  be  severed  at  once,  and  severed 
forever.  All  the  colonies  had  signified  their  resolution  to 
abide  by  this  decision,  and  the  people  looked  for  it  with  the 
most  intense  anxiety.  And  surely,  fellow-citizens,  never, 
never  were  men  called  to  a  more  important  political  delibe- 
ration.  If  we  contemplate  it  from  the  point  where  they  then 

a  In-ev'-i-ta-ble,  that  cannot  be  avoided,  c  Com-mem-o-ra'-tion.  public  celebra* 
b  Ex-ten'-u-ate,  to  lessen,  palliate.  tion. 

d  Con'-trO'Ver-sy,  dispute,  contention. 


Chap.  VII.  public  speeches.  Ill 

stood,  no  question  could  be  more  full  of  interest;  if  we  look 
at  it  now,  and  judge  of  its  importance  by  its  effects,  it  ap- 
pears in  still  greater  magnitude. 

2.  Let  us,  then,  bring  before  us  the  assembly,  which  was 
about  to  decide  a  question  thus  big  with  the  fate  of  empire. 
Let  us  open  their  doors,  and  look  in  upon  their  deliberations. 
Let  us  survey  the  anxious  and  care-worn  countenances,  let 
us  hear  the  firm-toned  voice  of  this  band  of  patriots.  Han- 
cock presides''  over  the  solemn  sitting;  and  one  of  those  not 
yet  prepared  to  pronounce  for  absolute  independence,  is  on 
the  fioor,  and  is  urging  his  reasons  for  dissenting  from  the 
declaration. 

3.  "Let  us  pause  !  This  step,  once  taken,  cannot  be  re- 
tracted.^ Tliis  resolution,  once  passed,  will  cut  off  all  hope 
of  reconciliation.  If  success  attend  the  arras  of  England, 
we  shall  then  be  no  longer  colonies,  with  charters, *=  and  with 
privileges;,  these  will  be  all  forfeited  by  this  act;  and  we 
shall  be  in  the  condition  of  other  conquered  people — at  the 
mercy  of  the  conquerors. 

4.  ''  For  ourselves,  we  may  be  ready  to  run  the  hazard  ; 
but  are  we  ready  to  carry  the  country  to  that  length  ?  Is 
success  so  probable  as  to  justify  it  ?  Where  is  the  military, 
where  the  naval  power,  by  which  we  are  to  resist  the  whole 
strength  of  the  arm  of  England  ?— for  she  will  exert  that 
strength  to  the  utmost.  Can  we  rely  on  the  constancy*^  and 
perseverance  of  the  people  ?  or  will  they  not  act,  as  the  peo- 
ple of  other  countries  have  acted,  and,  wearied  v/ith  a  long 
war,  submit,  in  the  end,  to  a  worse  oppression? 

5.  "While  we  stand  on  our  old  ground,  and  insist  on  re- 
dress of  grievances,  we  know  we  are  right,  and  are  not  an- 
swerable for  consequences.  Nothing,  then,  can  be  imputable* 
to  us.  But,  if  we  now  change  our  object,  carry  our  preten- 
sions farther,  and  set  up  for  absolute  independence,  we  shall 
lose  the  sympathy  of  mankind.  We  shall  no  longer  be  de- 
fending what  we  possess,  but  struggling  for  something  which 
we  never  did  possess,  and  which  we  have  solemnly  and  uni- 
formly disclaimed^"  all  intention  of  pursuing,  from  the  very 
outset  of  the  troubles.  Abandoning  thus  our  old  ground,  of 
resistance  only  to  arbitrary  acts  of  oppression,  the  nations 
will  believe  the  whole  to  have  been  mere  pretense,  and  they 
will  look  on  us  not  as  injured,  but  as  ambitious  subjects. 

6.  '•  I  shudder  before  this  responsibility.  It  will  be  on  us, 
if,  relinquishing  the  ground  we  have  stood  on  so  long,  and 


a  Pre-sides',  sits  over,  directs.  d  Con'-stan-cy,  fixedness,  steadiness. 

b  Re-tract'-ed,  recanted,  recalled.         e  Im-pu'-ta-bie,  that  may  be  imputed, 
f  Chart'-ers,  grants,  privileges.  /  Dis-claim'-ed,  disowned,  disavowed. 


112  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT  I. 

Stood  on  SO  safely,  we  now  proclaim  independence,  and  carry 
on  the  war  for  that  object,  while  tliese  cities  burn,  these 
pleasant  fields  whiten  and  bleach  with  thebonesof  their  own- 
ers, and  these  streams  run  blood.  It  will  be  upon  us,  it  will 
be  upon  us,  if,  failing  to  maintain  this  ihiseasonable  and  ill- 
judged  declaration,  a  sterner  despotism,  maintained  by  mili- 
tary power,  shall  be  established  over  orjr  posterity,  when  we 
ourselves,  given  up  by  an  exhausted,  a  harassed,  a  misled 
people,  shall  have  expiated=^  our  rashness,  and  atoned  for  our 
presumption  on  the  scaifold." 

7.  It  was  for  Mr.  Adams  to  reply  to  arguments  like  these. 
.*^  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  in  the  beginning  we  aimed  not  at  in- 
dependence. But  there's  a  Divinity  which  shapes  our  ends. 
The  injustice  of  England  has  driven  us  to  arms  ;  and,  blind- 
ed to  her  intf  rest,  fo^  our  good  she  has  obstinately  persisted, 
till  independence  is  now  within  our  grasp.  We  have  but  to 
reach  forth  to  it,  and  it  is  ours.  Why,  then,  should  Ave  defer 
the  declaration  ?  Is  any  man  so  weak  as  now  to  hope  for  a 
reconciliation  with  England,  which  shall  leave  either  safety 
to  the  country  and  its  liberties,  or  safety  to  his  own  life,  and 
his  own  honor? 

S.  "Are  not  you,  sir,  who  sit  in  that  chair;  is  not  he,  our 
venerable  colleague  near  you;  are  you  not  both  already  tiie 
proscribed*^  and  predestined'^  objects  of  punishment  and  of 
vengeance?  Cut  off  from  all  hope  of  royal  clemency,'^  what 
are  you,  what  can  you  be,  while  the  power  of  England  re- 
mains, but  outlaws  ?  If  we  postpone  independence,  do  we 
mean  to  carry  on,  or  to  give  up  the  war?  Do  we  mean  to 
submit  to  the  measures  of  parliament,  Boston  port-bill  and 
all?  Do  we  mean  to  submit,  and  consent  that  we  ourselves 
shall  be  ground  to  powder,  and  our  country  and  its  rights 
trodden  down  in  the  dust?  ' 

9.  "  I  know  we  do  not  mean  to  submit.  We  never  shall 
submit.  Do  we  intend  to  violate  that  most  solemn  obligation 
ever  entered  into  by  men,  that  plighting,  before  God,  of  our 
sacred  honor  to  Washington,  Avhen,  putting  him  forth  to  in- 
cur the  dangers  of  war,  as  well  as  the  political  hazards  of 
the  times,  we  promised  to  adhere  to  him,  in  every  extremity, 
with  our  fortunes,  and  our  lives  ? 

10.  "I  know  there  is  not  a  man  here,  who  would  not  ra- 
ther see  a  general  conflagration''  sweep  over  the  land,  or  an 
earthquake  sink  it,  than  one  jot  or  tittle  of  that  plighted  faith 
fall  to  the  ground.  For  myself,  having  twelve  months  ago, 
in  this  place,  moved  you,  that  George  Washington  be  appoint- 

o  Ex'-pi-a-tedf,  atoned  for.  d  Clem'-en-cj^,  mildness  of  temper, 

L  Pi'o-scri'-bed,  doomed  to  destruction,  e  Con-Jla-gra'-tionj  a  great  fire. 
c  Pre-des'-ti-ned,  predetermined. 


Chat.  VIL  didactic  pieces.  113 

ed  commander  of  the  forces,  raised,  or  to  be  raised,  for  de- 
fense of  American  liberty,  may  my  right  hand  forget  her  cun- 
ning, and  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  if  I 
hesitate  or  waver  in  the  support  I  give  him. 

11.  "The  war,  then,  must  go  on.  We  must  fight  it  through. 
And,  if  the  war  must  go  on,  why  put  off  longer  the  declara- 
tion of  independence?  That  measure  will  strengthen  us.  It 
will  give  us  character  abroad.  The  nations  will  then  treat 
with  us,  which  they  never  can  do  while  we  acknowledge  our- 
selves subjects,  in  arms  against  our  sovereign.  Nay,  I  main- 
tain that  England  herself  will  sooner  treat  for  peace  with  us 
on  the  footing  of  independence,  than  consent,  by  repealing 
her  acts,  to  acknowledge  that  her  whole  conduct  toward  us 
has  been  a  course  of  injustice  and  oppression. 

12.  •'  Her  pride  will  be  less  wounded  by  submitting  to  that 
course  of  things  which  now  predestinates  our  independence, 
than  by  yielding  the  points  in  controversy  to  her  rebellious 
subjects.  The  former  she  Avould  regard  as  the  result  of  for- 
tune ;  the  latter  she  would  feel  as  her  own  deep  disgrace. — 
Why  then,  sir,  do  we  not,  as  soon  as  possible,  change  this 
from  a  civil  to  a  national  w^ar?  And,  since  we  must  fight  it 
through,  why  not  put  ourselves  in  a  state  to  enjoy  all  the 
benefits  of  victory,  if  we  gain  the  victory  ? 

13.  "  If  we  fail,  it  can  be  no  worse  for  us. — But  we  shall 
not  fail.  The  cause  will  raise  up  armies ;  the  cause  will  cre- 
ate navies.  The  people,  if  we  are  true  to  them,  will  carry 
us,  and  will  carry  themselves,  gloriously  through  this  strug- 
gle. I  care  not  how  fickle  other  people  have  been  found.  I 
know  the  people  of  these  colonies  ;  and  I  know  that  resist- 
ance to  British  aggression*  is  deep  and  settled  in  their  hearts, 
and  cannot  be  eradicated.*'  Every  colony,  indeed,  has  ex- 
pressed its  willingness  to  follow,  if  we  but  take  the  lead., 

14.  "  Sir,  the  declaration  will  inspire  the  people  with  in- 
creased courage.  Instead  of  a  long  and  bloody  war  for  re- 
storation of  privileges,  for  redress  of  grievances,  for  chartered 
immunities  held  under  a  British  king,  set  before  them  the 
glorious  object  of  entire  independence,  and  it  will  breathe 
into  them  anew  the  breath  of  life.  Read  this  declaration  at 
the  head  of  the  armv ;  every  sword  will  be  drawn  from  its 
scabbard,  and  the  solemn  vow  uttered,  to  maintain  it  or  to 
perish  on  the  bed  of  honor. 

15.  "Publish  it  from  the  pulpit;  religion  will  approve  it. 
and  the  love  of  religious  liberty  will  cling  around  it,  resolvea 
to  stand  with  it,  or  fall  with  it.  Send  it  to  the  public  halls; 
proclaim  it  there ;  let  them  hear  it,  who  heard  the  first  roar 

o  Ag  gres'-sion,  act  of  hostility.  6  E-rad'-i-ca-tcd,  rooted  out. 

8 


114  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    I. 

of  the  enemy's  cannon ;  let  them  see  it,  who  saw  their  bro- 
thers and  their  sons  fall  on  the  field  of  Bunker-Hill,  and  in 
the  streets  of  Lexington  and  Concord, — and  the  very  walls 
will  cry  out  in  its  support. 

16.  "  Sir,  1  know  the  uncertainty  of  human  affairs ;  but  I 
see  clearly  through  this  day's  business.  You  and  I,  indeed, 
may  rue  it.  We  may  not  live  to  the  time,  when  this  declara- 
tion shall  be  made  good.  We  may  die  ;  die,  colonists  ;  die, 
slaves ;  die,  it  may  be,  ignominiously,*  and  on  the  scatfold. 
Be  it  so.  If  it  be  the  pleasure  of  Heaven  that  mxy  country 
shall  require  the  poor  offering  of  my  life,  the  victim  shall  be 
ready  at  the  appointed  hour  of  sacrifice,  come  Avlien  that  hour 
ifeay. 

17.  "But,  ^vhatever  may  be  our  fate,  be  assured  that  this 
declaration  will  stand.  It  may  cost  treasure,  and  it  may  cost 
blood  5  but  it  w^ill  stand,  and  it  will  richly  compensate^  for 
both.  Through  the  thick  gloom  of  the  present,  1  see  the 
brightness  of  the  future  as  fhe  sun  in  heaven.  We  shall  make 
this  a  glorious,  an  hnmortal  day.  When  we  are  in  our  graves 
our  children  will  honor  it.  They  will  celebrate  it  with  thanks- 
giving,vvith  festivity,  with  bonfires,  and  illuminations.  On 
its  annual  return,  they  will  shed  tears,  copious,  gushing  tears, 
not  of  subjection  and  slavery,  not  of  agony  and  distress,  but 
of  exultation,  of  gratitude,  and  of  joy.  Sir,  before  God  I  be- 
lieve the  hour  is  come.  My  judgment  approves  this  mea.^ure, 
and  my  whole  heart  is  in  it.  All  that  I  have  in  this  \iU\  I 
am  now  ready  here  to  stake  upon  it ; — sink  or  SAvim,  survive 
or  perishj  I  am  for  the  declaration  I"  D.  Webster. 

SECTION    VII. 

Extract  of  a  Speech  of  Counsellor  Phillips,  at  a  public 
■■M      dinner'  in  Ireland^  on  his  health  being  given^  together 
uith  that  of  a  Mr.  Payne^  a  yoimg  America/fi,  in  1817. 

1.  The  mention  of  America,  sir,  has  never  failed  to  fill  me 
with  the  most  lively  emotions.  In  my  earliest  infancy, — that 
tender  season  w'hen  impressions  at  once  the  most  permanent 
and  the  most  powerful,  are  likely  to  be  excited, — the  story  of 
her  then  recent  struggle  raised  a  throb  in  ever}''  heart  that 
loved  liberty,  and  wrung  a  reluctant  tribute  even  from  dis- 
comfited oppression. 

2.  I  saw  her  spurning  alike  the  luxuries  that  would  ener- 
vate, and  the-  legions  that  would  intimidate ;  dashing  from 
her  iips  the  poisoned  cup  of  European  servitude ;  and  through 
all  the  vicissitudes  of  her  protracted  conflict,  displaying  a 

a  tg-no-min'-i-ous-Iy  disgracefully         b  Com'-pen-sate.  to  make  amends. 


Chap.  VII.  public  vSpeeches.  115 

magnanimity  that  defied  misfortune,  and  a  moderation  that 
gave  new  grace  to  victory.  It  was  the  first  vision  of  my  child- 
hood ;  it  will  descend  with  me  to  the  grave.  But  if,  as  a  man, 
I  venerate  the  mention  of  America,  what  must  he  my  feelings 
toward  her  as  an  Irishman  !  Never,  O  !  never,  while  memory 
remains,  can  Ireland  forget  the  home  of  her  emigrant,*  and 
the  asylum  of  her  exile. 

3.  No  matter  whether  their  sorrows  sprung  from  the  errors 
of  enthusiasm,^  or  the  realities  of  suifering;  from  fancy  or 
infliction  :  that  must  be  reserved  for  the  scrutiny  of  those, 
whom  the  lapse  of  time  shall  acquit  of  partiality.  It  is  for 
the  men  of  other  ages  to  investigate  and  record  it ;  but,  surely, 
it  is  for  the  men  of  every  age  to  hail  the  hospitality  that  re- 
ceived the  shelterless,  and  love  the  feeling  that  befriended 
the  unfortunate. 

4.  Search  creation  round  and  where  can  you  find  a  coun- 
try that  presents  so  sublime  a  view,  so  interesting  in  antici- 
pation? What  noble  institutions!  What  a  comprehensive 
policy!  What  a  v/ise  equalization  of  every  political  advan- 
tage! The  oppressed  of  all  countries,  the  martyr  of  every 
creed,  the  innocent  victim  of  despotic  arrogance,*^  of  super- 
stitious frenzy,  may  there  find  refuge;  his  industry  encou- 
raged, \\i<  piety  respected,  his  ambition  animated  ;  with  no 
restraint  but  those  laws  which  are  the  same  to  all,  and  no 
distinction  but  that  which  his  merit  may  originate. 

5.  Who  can  deny,  that  the  existence  of  such  a  country  pre- 
sents a  subject  for  human  congratulation  !  Who  can  deny, 
that  its  gisrantic  advancement  oilers  a  field  for  the  most  ra- 
tional conjecture  !  At  the  end  of  the  very  next  century,  if  she 
proceeds  as  she  seems  to  promise,  what  a  wondrous  spectacle 
may  she  not  exhibit !  Who  shall  say  for  what  purpose  a  my- 
sterious Providence  may  not  have  designed  her?  W^ho  shall 
say,  that,  when  in  its  follies  or  its  crimes  the  old  world  may 
have  interred  all  the  pride  of  its  power,  and  all  the  pomp  of 
its  civilization,  human  nature  may  not  find  its  destined  reno- 
vation in  the  new. 

SECTION   VIII. 

Mr.  Sheridan'^s  invective^  against  Mr,  Hastings.'' 

1.  Had  a  stranger  at  this  time  gone  into  the  province  of 
Oude,  ignorant  of  what  had  happened  since  the  death  of  Su- 
jah  Dowla,— that  man,  who  with  a  savage  heart  had  still  great 

a  Em'-i-grant,  one  who  leaves  one  d  In-vec'-(ive,  a  railing  speech. 

counfry  to  reside  in  another.  e  Warren  Ilas'-tings,  governor  of  BrI- 

b  Eh-thu  -si-asm,  heat  of  imagination.  tish  India  in  1786.' 
c  Ar'ro-gance,  haughtiness. 


116  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   I. 

lines  of  character,  and  who,  with  all  his  ferocity  in  war,  had 
still,  with  a  cultiv^ating  hand,  preserved  to  his  country  the 
riches  which  it  derived  from  benignant  skies  and  a  prolific 
soil, — if  this  stranger,  ignorant  of  all  that  had  happened  in 
the  short  interval,  and  observing  the  wide  and  general  devas- 
tation, and  all  the  horrors  of  the  scene — of  plains  unclothed 
and  brown — of  vegetables  burnt  up  and  extinguished — of 
villages  depopulated  and  in  ruin — of  temples  unroofed  and 
perishing — of  reservoirs  broken  down  and  dry, — he  would 
naturally  inquire  what  war  has  thus  laid  waste  the  fertile 
fields  of  this  once  beautiful  and  opulent  country — what  civil 
dissensions  have  happened,  thus  to  tear  asunder  and  separate 
the  happy  societies  that  once  possessed  those  villages — what 
disputed  succession — what  religious  rage  has  with  unholy 
violence  demolished  those  temples,  and  disturbed  fervent, 
but  unobtru*ding  piety  in  the  exercise  of  its  duties? 

2.  What  merciless  enemy  has  thus  spread  the  horrors  of 
fire  and  sword — what  severe  visitation  of  Providence  has  dried 
up  the  fountain,  and  taken  from  the  face  of  the  earth  every 
vestige  of  verdure  ? — Or  rather,  what  monsters  have  stalked 
over  the  country,  tainting  and  poisoning,  with  pestiferous* 
breath,  what  the  voracious  appetite  could  not  devour? 

3.  To  such  questions  what  must  be  the  answer?  No  wars 
have  ravished  these  lands  and  depopulated  these  villages — no 
civil  discords  have  been  felt — no  disputed  succession — no  re- 
ligious rage — no  merciless  enemy — no  affliction  of  Provi- 
dence, which,  while  it  scourged  for  the  moment,  cut  off  the 
sources  of  resuscitation — no  voracious  and  poisoning  mon- 
sters— no,  all  this  has  been  accomplished  by  the  friendship^ 
generosity^  and  kindness,  of  the  English  nation. 

4.  They  have  embraced  us  with  their  protecting  arms,  and 
Jo!  these  are  the  fruits  of  their  alliance.  What,  then,  shall 
we  be  told  that  under  such  circumstances  the  exasperated^ 
feelings  of  a  whole  people,  thus  goaded  and  spurred  on  to 
clamor  and  resistance,  were  excited  by  the  poor  and  feeble 
influence  of  the  Begums? 

5.  When  we  hear  the  description  of  the  paroxysm,  fever, 
and  delirium,*^  into  which  despair  had  thrown  the  natives, 
when  on  the  banks  of  the  polluted  Ganges,  panting  for  death, 
they  tore  more  widely  open  the  lips  of  their  gaping  wounds, 
to  accelerate"*  their  dissolution  ;  and  while  their  blood  was 
issuing,  presented  their  ghastly  eyes  to  heaven,  breathing 
iheir  last  and  fervent  prayer  that  the  dry  earth  might  not  be 
suffered  to  drink  their  blood,  but  that  it  might  rise  up  to  the 


#»  Pfts-tif-er-ous,  noxious,  malignant,     c  De-lir'-i-ura,  derangement 

ft  Exas'-pe-raied,  provoked  to  anger,    d  Ac-cel'-e-rate,  to  hasten  motion. 


Chap.  VII.  public  speeches.  117 

throne  of  God,  and  rouse  the  eternal  Providence  to  avenge 
the  wrongs  of  their  country, — v^ill  it  be  said  that  this  was 
brought  about  by  the  incantations  of  these  Begums  in  their 
secluded  Zenana?  or  that  they  could  inspire  this  enthusiasm 
and  this  despair  into  the  breasts  of  a  people  who  felt  no  grie- 
vance, and  had  sulTered  no  torture  1  What  motive,  then,  could 
have  such  iniluence  in  their  bosom  ? 

6.  Whatmotive!  That  which  nature,  the  common  parent, 
plants  in  the  bosom  of  man,  and  which,  though  it  may  be  less 
active  in  the  Indian  than  in  the  Englishman,  is  still  conge- 
nial* with,  and  makes  part  of  his  being— -that  feeling  which 
tells  him  that  man  was  never  made  to  be  the  property  of  man  ; 
but  that  when  through  pride  and  insolence  of  power  one  hu- 
man creature  dares  to  tyrannize  over  another,  it  is  a  power 
usurped,  and  resistance  is  a  duty — that  feeling  which  tells 
him  that  all  power  is  delegated  for  the  good,  not  for  the  in- 
jury of  the  people,  and  that  when  it  is  converted  from  the 
original  purpose  the  compact  is  broken,  and  the  right  is  to 
be  resumed — that  principal  which  tells  him  that  resistance 
to  power  usurped  is  not  merely  a  duty  which  he  owes  to  him- 
self and  to  his  neighbor,  but  a  duly  which  he  owes  to  his 
God,  in  asserting  and  maintaining  the  rank  which  he  gave 
him  in  the  creation! — to  that  common  God,  who,  where  he 
gives  the  form  of  man,  whatever  may  be  the  complexion, 
gives  also  the  feelings  and  the  rii^hts  of  man — that  principJe, 
which  neither  the  rudeness  of  ignorance  can  stifle,  nor  the 
enervation  of  refinement  extinguish! — that  principal  which 
makes  it  base  for  a  man  to  sutTer  when  he  ought  to  act,  and 
which,  tending  to  preserve  to  tiie  s{)ecies  the  original  desig- 
nations of  Providence,  spurns  at  the  arrogant  distinctions  of 
man,  and  vindicates  the  independent  qualities  of  his  race. 


SECTION    IX. 

Mr.  Burke^s  descHplion  of  Junius.^ 

1.  Where,  then,  sir,  shall  we  look  for  the  origin  of  this 
relaxation<=  of  the  laws,  and  of  all  government  ?  How  comes 
this  Junius  to  have  broken  through  the  cobwebs  of  the  law 
and  to  range  uncontrolled,  unpunished  through  the  land? 
The  myrmidons'^  of  the  court  have  long  been,  and  are  still 
pursuing  him  in  vain.  They  will  not  spend  their  time  upon 
me,  or  you,  or  you:  no;  they  disdain  such  vermin  when  the 

a  Con-ge'-ni-al,  partaking  of  the  same    c  Re-lax-a'-tion,  a  slackening. 

niture  d  Myr'-rai-dons,  rullians. 

b  Jun'ius,  the  signature  of  a  severe  cora- 

meoter  on  the  acts  of  the  British  niinistky. 


118  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT.    I. 

mighty  boar  of  the  forest,  that  has  broken  tnrougn  all  their 
toils  is  before  them. 

2.  But,  what  will  all  their  efforts  avail  ?  No  sooner  has 
he  wounded  one,  than  he  lays  down  another  dead  at  his  feet. 
For  my  part,  when  I  saw  his  attack  upon  the  king,  I  own, 
my  blood  ran  cold.  I  thought  he  had  ventured  too  far,  and 
that  there  Avas  an  end  of  his  triumphs;  not  that  he  had  not 
asserted  many  truths.  Yes,  sir,  there  are  in  that  composi- 
tion many  bold  truths  by  Avhich  a  wise  prince  might  profit. 
It  was  the  rancor  and  venom  with  which  I  was  struck.  In 
these  respects  the  North  Briton  is  as  much  inferior  to  him, 
as  in  strength,  wit,  and  judgment. 

3.  But  while  I  expected  from  this  daring  flight  his  final  ruin 
and  fall,  behold  him  rising  still  higher,  and  coming  down 
souse  upon  both  houses  of  parliament.  Yes,  he  did  make 
yoi  his  quarry,  and  you  still  bleed  from  the  wounds  of  his 
ta  ons.  You  crouched,  and  still  crouch  beneath  his  rage. — 
Nor  has  he  dreaded  the  terror  of  your  brow,  sir;  he  has  at- 
tacked even  you, — he  has, — and  I  believe  you  have  no  reason 
to  triumph  in  the  encounter. 

4.  In  short,  after  carrying  away  our  royal  eagle  in  his 
pounces,  and  dashing  him  against  a  rock,  he  has  laid  you. 
prostrate.  Kings,  Lords,  and  Commons,  are  but  the  sport  of 
liis  fury.  Were  he  a  member  of  this  house,  what  might  not 
be  expected  from  his  knowledge,  his  firmness,  and  integrity  \ 
He  would  be  easily  known  by  his  contempt  of  all  danger,  by 
his  penetration,  by  his  vigor.  Nothing  would  escape  his 
vigilance  and  activity  ;  bad  ministers  could  conceal  nothing 
from  his  sagacity  ;  nor  could  promises  or  threats  induce  him 
to  conceal  any  thing  from  the  public. 


SECTION    X. 

Mr.  Burke's  compliment  to  Mr.  Fox  in  support  of  his  India 
Bill. 

1.  And  now,  having  done  my  duty  to  the  bill,  let  me  say  a 
word  to  the  author.  I  should  leave  him  to  his  own  noble  seii- 
iments,  if  the  unworthy  and  illiberal  language  with  which 
ne  had  been  treated,  beyond  all  example  of  parliamentary 
liberty,  did  not  make  a  lew  words  necessary,  not  so  much  in 
justice  to  him, as  to  my  own  feelings: — I  must  say  then,  that 
It  will  be  a  distinction  honorable  to  the  age,  that  the  rescue  of 
the  greatest  number  of  the  human  race  tliat  ever  were  so 
grievously  oppressed,  from  the  greatest  tyranny  that  was 
ever  exercised  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  abilities  and  disposi- 


Chap.  VII.  public  speeches.  119 

tions  equal  to  the  task ;  that  it  has  fallen  to  one  who  has  the 
enlargement  to  comprehend,  t!ie  spirit  to  undertake,  and  the 
eloquence  to  support,  so  great  a  measure  of  hazardous''  bene- 
volence. 

2.  His  spirit  is  not  owing  to  his  ignorance  of  the  state  of 
men  and  things.  He  well  knows  what  snares  are  spread 
about  his  path,  from  personal  animosity,''  from  court  intrigues, 
and  possibly  from  popular  delusion.  But  he  has  put  to  ha- 
zard his  ease,  liis  security,  his  interest,  his  power,  even  his 
darling  popularity,  for  the  benefit  of  a  people  whom  he  has 
never  seen. 

3.  This  is  the  road  that  all  heroes  have  trod  before  him. 
He  is  traduced*^  and. abused  for  his  supposed  motives.  He 
will  remember  that  obloquy'^  is  a  necessary  ingredient  in  the 
composition  of  all  tH'ue  glory  ;  he  will  remember,  that  it  was 
not  only  in  the  Roman  customs,  but  it  is  in  the  nature  and 
constitution  of  ihinirs,  that  calumny  and  abuse  are  essential 
parts  of  triumph.  These  thoughts  will  support  a  mind  which 
only  exists  for  honor,  under  the  burden  of  temporary  re- 
proach. 

4.  He  is  doing,  indeed,  a  great  good;  such  as  rarely  falls 
to  the  lot,  and  almost  as  rarely  coincides  with  the  desires,  of 
any  man.  Let  him  use  his  time.  Let  him  give  the  whole 
length  of  the  reins  to  his  benevolence.  He  is  now  on  a  great 
eminence,  where  the  eyes  of  mankind  are  turned  to  him.  He 
may  live  long,  he  may  do  much.  But  here  is  the  summit. 
He  never  can  exceed  what  he  does  this  day. 

5.  He  has  faults  ;  but  they  are  faults  that — though  they 
may  in  a  small  degree  tarnish  the  luster,  and  sometimes  im- 
pede*"  the  march  of  his  abilities — have  nothing  in  them  to 
extinguish  the  fire  of  great  virtues.  In  those  faults,  there  is 
no  mixture  of  deceit,  of  hypocrisy,  of  pride,  of  ferocity,  of 
complexional  despotism,  or  want  of  feeling  for  the  distresses 
of  mankind. 

SECTION    XI. 

Extract  from  Mr.  Currants  Speech,  at  the  Court  of  King'' 8 
Bench^  in  Ireland,  in  defence  of  Mr.  Rowan,  charged 
with  had ng  published  a  Seditious  Libel.^ 

1.  Gentlemen  of  the  jury — When  I  consider  the  period 
at  which  this  prosecution  is  brought  forward, — when  1  be- 
hold the  extraordinary  safeguard  of  armed  soldiers  resorted 

a  Haz'-ard-ous,  exposed  to  danirer.        d  Ob'-lo-quy,  slander. 
b  An-i-nios'-i-ty.  extreme  liatrcU.  e  ha-pede',  to  liiuder. 

c  Tra-du'-ceo,  defamed.  /Li'-bel,  a  defamatory  writing. 


a20  new    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   I 

to,  no  doubt  for  the  preservation  of  peace  and  order^ — when 
I  catch,  as  I  cannot  but  do,  the  throb  of  public  anxiety,  which 
beats  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  this  hall, — when  I  reilect 
on  what  may  be  the  fate  of  a  man  of  the  most  beloved  per- 
sonal character,  of  one  of  the  most  respected  families  of  our 
country,  himself  the  only  individual  of  that  family — I  may 
almost  say  of  that  country — who  can  look  to  that  possil)le 
fate  with  unconcern, — it  is  in  the  honest  simplicity  of  my 
heart  I  speak,  when  I  say,  that  I  never  rose  in  a  court  of  jus- 
tice with  so  much  embarrassment  as  up/on  this  occasion. 

2.  If,  gentlemen,  I  could  entertain  a  hope  of  finding  refuge 
for  the  disconcertion  of  my  mind,  in  the  perfect  composure 
of  yours, — if  I  couhl  sup})Ose  that  those  awful  vicissitu<les  of 
human  events,  which  have  been  stated  or  alluded  to,  could 
leave  your  judgments  undisturbed,  and  your  hearts  at  ease, 
-^I  know  I  should  form  a  most  erroneous  opinion  of  your 
character. 

3.  But  I  entertain  no  such  chimerical*  hopes  ;  I  form  no 
such  unworthy  opinions;  I  expect  not  that  your  hearts  can 
be  more  at  ease  than  my  own  ;  I  have  no  right  to  expect  it; 
but  I  have  a  right  to  call  upon  you,  in  the  name  of  your 
country,  in  the  name  of  the  living  Goo,  of  whose  eternal  jus- 
lice  you  are  now  administering  that  portion  which  dwells 
with  us  on  this  side  of  the  grave,  to  discharge  your  breasts 
as  far  as  you  are  able  of  every  bias  of  prejudice  or  passion  ; 
that,  if  my  client^  be  guilty  of  the  offence  charged  upon  bin), 
you  may  give  tranquillity  to  the  public  by  a  firm  verdict*^  ol 
conviction;  or  if  he  be  innocent,  by  as  firm  a  verdict  of  ac- 
quittal; and  that  you  will  do  this  in  defiance  of  the  paltry 
artifices  and  senseless  clamors  that  have  been  resorted  to,  in 
order  to  bring  him  to  his  trial  with  anticipate-d  conviction. 

4'  Gentlemen,  the  representation  of  your  people  is  the 
vital  principal  of  their  political  existence ;  without  it  they 
are  dead,  or  they  live  only  to  servitude  ;  without  it  there  are 
two  estates  acting  upon  and  against  the  thud,  instead  of  act- 
iiig  in  co-operation  with  it ;  without  it,  if  the  people  be  op- 
pressed by  their  judges,  where  is  the  tribunal  to  which  their 
judges  can  be  amenable?^  Without  it,  if  they  be  trampled 
upon,  and  plundered  by  a  minister,  where  is  the  tribunal  to 
which  the  offender  shall  be  amenable  ?  Without  it,  where  is 
the  ear  to  hear,  or  the  heart  to  feel,  or  the  hand  to  redress 
their  sufferings  ? 

5.  Shall  they  be  found,  let  me  ask  you,  in  the  accursed 
jand  of  imps  and  minions  that  bask  in  their  disgrace,  and 

a  Chi-mer'-ic-al,  imaginary,  fanciful.      c  Ver'-dict,  determination  of  a  jury. 
6  Cli'-eat,  the  employer  of  an  alioniey.  d  A-me'-na-Lle,  answerauie. 


Chap.  VII.  purlic  speeches.  121 

fatten  upon  their  spoils,  and  flourish  upon  their  rum  ?  But 
let  me  not  put  this  to  you  as  a  merely  speculative  question. 
It  is  a  plain  question  ol'lact:  rely  upon  it,  physical  man  is 
every  where  the  same;  it  is  only  the  various  operation  of 
moral  causes,  that  gives  variety  to  the  social  or  individual 
character  and  condition.  How  otherwise  happens  it,  that 
modern  slavery  looks  quietly  at  the  despot,  on  the  very  spot 
where  Leonidas*  expired?  The  answer  is,  Sparta  has  no* 
changed  her  climate,  but  she  has  lost  that  government  which 
her  liberty  could  not  survive. 

6.  I  call  you,  therefore,  to  the  plain  question  of  fact.  This 
paper  recommends  a  reform  in  parliament ;  I  put  that  ques- 
tion 10  your  consciences  ;  do  you  think  it  needs  that  reform? 
I  put  it  boldly  and  fairly  to  you,  do  you  think  the  people  ot 
Ireland  are  represented  as  they  ought  to  be? — Do  you  hesi- 
tate for  an  answer  ?  If  you  do,  let  me  remind  you,  that  untill 
the  last  year  three  millions  of  your  countrymen  have,  by  the 
express  letter  of  the  law,  been  excluded  i'rom  the  reality  of 
actual,  and  even  from  the  phantom  of  virtual  representation. 
Shall  we  then  be  told  that  this  is  only  the  affirmation  of  a 
wicked  and  seditious  incendiary  ?^ 

7.  If  you  flo  not  feel  the  mockery  of  such  a  charge,  look  at 
your  country  ;  in  what  state  do  you  find  it  ?  Is  it  in  a  slate 
of  tranquillity  and   general  satisfaction?     These  are  traces 

^  by  which  good  is  ever  to  be  distinguished  from  bad  govern- 
ment. Without  any  very  minute  inquiry  or  speculative  re- 
finement, do  you  ^Gtil,  that  veneration  for  the  law,  a  pious 
and  humble  attachment  to  the  constitution,  form  the  political 
morality  of  your  people?  Do  you  find  that  comfort  and 
competency  among  your  people,  which  are  always  to  be 
found  where  a  government  is  mild  and  moderate;  where 
taxes  are  imposed  by  a  body,  who  have  an  interest  in  treating 
the  poorer  orders  with  compassion,  and  preventing  the  weight 
of  taxation  from  pressmg  sore  upon  them. 

8.  Gentlemen,  I  mean  not  to  impeach  the  state  of  your 
representation;  I  am  not  saying  that  it  is  defective,  or  that 
it  ought  to  be  altered  or  amended  ;  nor  is  this  a  place  for  n>e 
to  say,  whether  1  think  that  three  millions  of  the  inhabitants 
of  a  country,  whose  whole  number  is  but  four,  ought  to  be 
admitted  to  any  efficienf^  situation  in  the  state. 

9.  It  may  be  said,  and  truly,  that  these  are  not  questions 
for  either  of  us  directly  to  decide  ;  but  you  cannot  refuse  them 
some  passing  consideration,  at   least,  when  you  remember, 

a  Le-ou'-i-'la.s,  km?  of  Rjinrfa;  killed  at  b  In  cen'-ili-a-ry,  one  who  maliciously 
the  battle  of  Thermopylae.  huriis  a  h«)u.se.  or  excites  «liscord. 

c  Ei-a'cient,  that  produces  the  ellect. 


122  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    I. 

that  on  this  subject  the  real  question  for  your  decision  is, 
whether  the  allegation''  of  a  defect  in  your  constitution  is  so 
uuerly  unfounded  and  false,  that  you  can  ascribe  it  only  to 
the  malice  and  perverseness  of  a  wicked  mind,  and  not  to 
the  innocent  mistake  of  an  ordinary  understanding:  whether 
it  may  not  be  mistake  ;  whether  it  can  be  only  sedition. 

10.  And  here,  gentlemen,  1  own  I  cannot  but  regret,  that 
one  of  our  countrymen  should  be  criminally  pursued  for  as- 
serting to  the  necessity  of  a  reform,  at  the  very  moment  when 
that  necessity  seems  admitted  by  the  parliament  itself  :  that 
this  unhappy  reform  shall  at  the  same  moment  be  a  subject 
of  legislative  discussion,  and  criminal  prosecution.  Far  am 
1  from  imputing  any  sinister^  design  to  the  virtue  or  wisdom 
of  our  government,  but  who  can  avoid  feeling  the  deplorable 
impression  that  must  be  made  on  the  public  mind,  when 
the  demand  for  that  reform  is  answered  by  a  criminal 
information  } 

11.  I  am  the  more  forcibly  impressed  by  this  considera- 
tion, when  I  reflect  that  when  this  information  was  first  put 
upon  the  file,  the  subject  was  transiently  mentioned  in  the 
liouse  of  Commons.  Some  circumstances  retarded  the 
progress  of  the  inquiry  there,  and  the  progress  of  the  infor- 
mation was  equally  retarded  here.  The  first  day  of  this 
session,  you  all  know  that  subject  was  again  brought  forward 
in  the  House  of  Commons  ;  and,  as  if  they  had  slept  together, 
this  prosecution  was  also  revived  in  the  Court  of  King's 
Bench; — and  that  before  a  jury  taken  from  a  panel  partly 
composed  of  those  very  members  of  parliament,  who,  in  the 
House  of  Commons  must  debate  upon  this  subject  as  a 
measure  of  public  advantage,  which  they  are  here  called 
upon  to  consider  as  a  public  crime. 

12.  This  paper,  gentlemen,  insists  upon  the  necessity  of 
emanci[)ating  the  Catholics  of  Ireland,  and  that  is  charged 
as  a  part  of  the  libel.  If  they  had  kept  this  prosecution  im- 
pending for  another  year,  how  much  would  remain  for  a  jury 
to  decide  upon,  I  should  be  at  a  loss  to  discover.  It  seems 
as  if  the  progress  of  public  reformation  was  eating  away  the 
ground  of  the  prosecution.  Since  the  commencement  of  the 
prosecution,  this  part  of  the  libel  has  unluckily  received  the 
sanction  of  the  legislature.  In  that  interval,  our  Catholic 
brethren  have  obtained  that  admission,  which  it  seems  it 
was  a  libel  to  propose  :  in  what  way  to  account  for  this,  I 
am  really  at  a  loss. 

13.  Have  any  alarms  been  occasioned  by  the  emancipation 

a  Al-Ie-ga'-tlon,  affirmation,  plea.  c  E-mau'-ci-pa-ting,  setting  free. 

b  Siu'-is-ter.  unjuat,  uulair. 


Chap.  VII.  public  speeches.  123 

of  our  Catholic  brethren  ?  Has  the  bigoted  mali2:nity  of  any 
individuals  been  crushed  ?  Or,  has  the  stability  of  the 
government,  or  has  that  of  the  country  been  awakened  ?  Or, 
is  one  niiliion  of  subjects  stronger  than  three  nriillions?  Do 
you  think  the  benefit  they  received  should  be  poisoned  by 
the  stings  of  vengeance  ?  If  you  think  so,  you  must  say  to 
them, — "you  have  demanded  your  emancipation,  and  you 
have  got  it ;  but  we  abhor  your  persons,  we  arc  outraged  at 
your  success,  and  we  will  stigm.atize,  by  a  criminal  prose- 
cution, the  relief  which  you  have  obtained  from  the  voice  of 
your  country." 

14.  I  ask  you,  gentlemen,  do  you  think,  as  honest  men, 
anxious  for  the  public  tranquillity,  conscious  that  there  are 
wounds  not  yet  completely  cicatrized,*  that  you  ought  to 
speak  this  language  at  this  time,  to  men  "who  are  too  much 
disposed  to  think  that  in  this  very  emancipation  they  have 
been  saved  from  their  own  parliament,  by  the  humanity  of 
their  Sovereign  ?  Or,  do  you  wish  to  prepare  them  for  the 
revocation''  of  these  improvident  concessions? 

15.  Do  you  think  it  wise  or  humane,  at  this  tnoment,  to 
insult  them  by  sticking  up  in  a  pillory^  the  man  who  dared 
to  stanc||^rth  their  advocate?  I  put  it  to  your  oaths,  do 
you  thinlT that  a  blessing  of  that  kind,  that  a  victory  obtained 
by  justice  over  bigotry  and  oppression,  should  have  a  stigma 
cast  upon  it  by  an  ignominious  sentence  upon  men  bold 
and  honest  enough  to  propose  that  measure, — to  propose  the 
redeeming  of  religion  from  the  abuses  of  the  church — the 
reclaiming  of  three  millions  of  men  from  bondage,  and  giving 
liberty  to  all  who  had  a  right  to  demand  it — giving.  I  say,  in 
the  so  much  censured  words  of  this  paper,  '^  Universal 
Emancipation  !" 

16.  No  matter  in  what  language  his  doom  may  have  been 
pronounced;  no  matter  what  complexion  incompatible  with 
freedom,  an  Indian  or  an  African  sun  may  have  burnt  upon 
him  ;  no  matter  in  what  disastrous  battle  his  liberty  may 
have  been  cloven  down  ;  no  matter  with  what  solemnities 
be  may  have  been  devoted  upon  the  altar  of  slavery;  the 
first  moment  he  touches  the  sacred  soil  of  Britain,  the  altar 
and  the  god  sink  together  in  the  dust :  his  soul  walks  abroad 
in  her  own  majesty  ;  his  body  swells  beyond  the  measure  of 
his  chains  that  burst  from  around  him,  and  he  stands  re- 
deemed, regenerated,  and  disenthralled,*^  by  the  irresistible 
Genius  of  Universal  Emancipation. 

aCic'-a-tri-zed,  skinned  over.  d  Com-men'-su-ra(e,  of  equal  meai^ure- 

^^Rev-o-ca'-lion,  recall,  repeal.  e  Dis'-eu-llirall-cd.  restored  to  liberty. 

cPil'-lo-ry,  a  frame  lo  contiue  crimi- 
nals for  punishuieut. 


124  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  I. 

17.  I  cannot  avoid  adverting  to  a  circumstance  that  dis- 
tinguishes the  case  of  Mr.  Rowan,  from  that  of  Mr.  Muir. 
The  severer  law  of  Scotland,  it  seems — and  happy  for  them 
that  it  should — enahles  them  to  remove  from  their  sight  the 
victim  oftlieir  infatuation.*  The  more  merciful  spirit  of  our 
law  deprives  you  of  that  consolation  ;  his  sufferings  must 
remain  forever  before  your  eyes,  a  continual  call  upon  your 
shame  and  your  remorse. 

18.  But  those  sufferings  will  do  more  ;  they  will  not  rest 
satisfied  witn  your  unavailing  contrition,''  they  will  challenge 
the  great  and  paramount  inquest  of  society  ;  the  man  will 
be  weighed  against  the  charge,  the  witness  and  the  sentence; 
and  impartial  justice  will  demand,  why  has  an  Irish  jury 
done  this  deed  '?  The  moment  he  ceases  to  be  regarded  as 
a  criminal,  he  becomes  of  necessity  an  accuser ;  and  let  me 
ask  you,  what  can  your  most  zealous  defenders  be  prepared 
to  answer  to  such  a  charge? 

19.  When  your  sentence  shall  have  sent  him  forth  to  that 
stage,  which  guilt  alone  can  render  infamous ;  let  me  tell 
you,  he  wtll  not  be  like  a  little  statue  upon  a  mighty  pedes- 
tal,'' diminishing  by  elevation;  but  he  will  stand  a  striking 
and  imposing  object  upon  a  monument,  which,  if  i|^o  not — 
and  it  cannot — record  the  atrocity  of  his  crime,  must  record 
the  atrocity  of  his  conviction.  Upon  this  subject,  therefore, 
credit  me  when  I  say,  that  I  am  still  more  anxious  for  you, 
than  I  can  possibly  be  for  him. 

20.  I  cannot  but  feel  the  peculiarity  of  your  situation. — 
Not  the  jury  of  his  own  choice,  which  the  law  of  England 
allows,  but  which  ours  refuses ;  collected  in  that  box  by  a 
person,  certainly  no  friend  to  Mr.  Rowan,  certainly  not  very 
deeply  interested  in  giving  him  a  very  impartial  jury.  Feel- 
ing this,  as  I  am  persuaded  you  do,  you  cannot  be  surprised 
—  however  you  may  be  distressed — at  the  mournful  presage, •* 
with  which  an  anxious  public  is  led  to  fear  the  worst  from 
your  possible  determination. 

21.  But  I  will  not,  for  the  justice  and  honour  of  our  com- 
mon country,  suffer  my  mind  to  be  borne  away  by  such 
melancholy  anticipation.  I  will  not  relinquish  the  confi- 
dence that  this  day  will  be  the  period  of  his  sufferings  ;  and, 
however  mercilessly  he  has  been  hitherto  pursued,  that  your 
verdict  will  send  him  home  to  the  arms  of  his  family,  and 
the  wishes  of  his  country.  But  if — which  heaven  forbid — it 
hath  still  been  unfortunately  determined,  that  because  he  has 
not  bent  to  power  and  authority — because  he  would  not  bow 

a  In-fat-n-a'-tion,  deprivation  of  reason,  d  Pre'-saore,  somethinjj  that  foreshows 
b  Con-tri'-tioii,  sincere  sorrow  for  bin.  au  event. 

c  Ped'  es-tal.  the  basis  of  a  pillar. 


Chap.  VII.  public  speeches.  125 

down  before  the  golden  calf  and  worship  it — he  is  to  be 
bound  and  cast  into  the  furnace ;  I  do  trust  in  God  that  there 
is  a  redeeming  spirit  in  the  constitution,  which  will  be  seen 
to  walk  with  the  sufferer  through  the  flameSj  and  to  preserve 
him  unhurt  by  the  conflagration. 


SECTION   XII. 

Extract  from  Mr,  WirVs  Eulogy  on  Thomas  Jefferson  and 
John  Adams^  both  of  whom  died  upon  the  same  day,  July 
4th,  lS26,ffty  years  from  the  adoption  of  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence : — pronounced  at  Washington,  Oct, 
19th,  1826. 

1.  The  scenes  which  have  been  lately  passing  In  our 
country,  and  of  which  this  meeting  is  a  continuance,  are  full 
of  moral  instruction.  They  hold  up  to  the  world  a  lesson  of 
wisdom  by  which  all  may  profit,  if  Heaven  shall  grant  them 
the  discretion  to  turn  it  to  its  use.  The  spectacle,  in  all  its 
parts,  has  indeed  been  most  solemn  and  impressive ;  and 
though  the  first  impulse  be  now  past,  the  time  has  not  yet 
come,  and  never  will  come,  when  we  can  contemplate  it 
without  l^newed  emotion. 

2.  In  the  structure  of  their  characters;  in  the  course  of 
their  action;  in  the  striking  coincidences*  which  marked 
their  high  career;  in  the  lives  and  in  the  deaths  of  the  illus- 
trious men,  w^hose  virtues  and  services  we  have  met  to  com- 
memorate— and  in  that  voice  of  admiration  and  gratitude 
which  has  since  burst,  with  one  accord,  from  the  twelve 
millions  of  freemen  who  people  these  United  States  ; — there 
is  amoral  sublimity  which  overwhelms  the  mind,  and  hushes 
all  its  powers  into  silent  amazement ! 

3.  The  European,  who  should  have  heard  the  sound 
"without  apprehending  the  cause,  would  be  apt  to  inquire, 
"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ? — what  had  these  men 
done  to  elicit*^  this  unanimous  and  splendid  acclamation  ?^ 
Why  has  the  whole  American  nation  risen  up,  as  one  man, 
to  do  them  honor,  and  offer  to  them  this  enthusiastic  homage 
of  the  heart? 

4.  Were  they  mighty  warriors,  and  was  the  peal  that  we 
have  heard  the  shout  of  victory  ?  Were  they  great  com- 
manders, returning  from  their  distant  conquests,  surrounded 
with  the  spoils  of  war,  and  was  this  the  sound  of  their  trium- 
phal procession  ?  Were  they  covered  with  martial  glory  in 
any  form,  and  was  this  "  the  noisy  wave  of  the  multitudes, 

fi  Eu'-Io-gy,  praise,  panegyric.  c  E-Iic'-it,  to  draw  forth. 

^Co-in'-ci-den-ces,  concurrences.         d  Ac-cla-ma'-tion,  shout  of  applause. 


126  NEW  ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT  I. 

rolling  back  at  their  approach  ?"  Nothing  of  all  this  :  No  ; 
they  were  peaceful  and  aged  patriots,  who,  haWng  served 
their  country  together  through  their  long  and  useful  lives,  had 
now  sunk  together  to  the  tomb. 

5.  They  had  not  fought  battles;  but  they  had  formed  and 
moved  the  great  machinery,  of  which  battles  were  only  a 
small,  and  comparatively  trivial  consequence.  They  had  not 
commanded  armies;  but  they  had  commanded  the  master 
springs  of  the  nation,  on  which  all  its  great  political,  as  well 
as  military  movements  depended.  By  the  wisdom  and 
energy  of  their  counsels,  and  by  the  potent  mastery  of  their 
spirits,  they  had  contributed  pre-eminently  to  produce  a 
mighty  Revolution,  which  has  changed  the  aspect  of  the 
world. 

6.  A  Revolution  which,  in  one  half  of  that  world  has 
already  restored  man  to  his  "  long-lost  liberty,"  and  govern- 
ment to  its  only  legitimate*  object,  the  happiness  of  the 
People ;  and  on  the  other  hemisphere^  has  thrown  a  light  so 
strong,  that  even  the  darkness  of  despotism  is  beginning  to 
recede.  Compared  with  the  solid  glory  of  an  achievement 
like  this,  what  are  battles,  and  what  the  pomp  of  war,  but 
the  poor  and  fleeting  pageants*'  of  a  theater?  What  were 
the  selfish  and  petty  strides  of  Alexander,  to  conquer  a  little 
section  of  the  savage  w^orld,  compared  with  this  generous, 
this  magnificent  advance  toward  the  eoiancipation  of  the 
entire  world  ! 

7.  And  this,  be  it  remembered,  has  been  the  fruit  of  intel- 
lectual exertion  : — the  triumph  of  mind  !  What  a  proud  tes- 
timony does  it  bear  to  the  character  of  our  nation,  that  they 
are  able  to  make  a  proper  estimate  of  services  like  these  I — 
That  while  in  other  countries,  the  senseless  mob  fall  down 
in  stupid  admiration  before  the  bloody  wheels  of  the  con- 
queror,— even  of  the  conqueror  by  accident, — in  this,  our 
People  rise  with  one  accord,  to  pay  their  homage  to  intellect 
and  virtue! 

8.  What  a  cheering  pledge  does  it  giv^e  of  the  stability*^  of 
our  institutions,  that,  while  abroad  the  yet  benighted  multi- 
tude are  prostrating  themselves  before  the  idols  which  their 
own  hands  have  fashioned  into  Kings,  here,  in  this^  land  of 
the  free,  our  people  are  every  where  starting  up  with  one 
impulse,  to  follow,  with  their  acclamations,  the  ascending 
spirits  of  the  great  Fathers  of  the  Republic ! 

9.  This  is  a  spectacle  of  which  we  may  be  permitted  to  be 
proud.     It  honors  our  country  no  less  than  the  illustrious 

a  Le-git'-i  mate,  lawful,  born  in  mar-    c  Pa'-geants,  pompous  shows. 

riai^e  d  Sta'-bil-i-ty,  firmness,  constancy. 

fcHeir'-i-sphere,  half  of  a  sphere. 


Chap.  VII.  public  speeches.  127 

dead.  And  could  those  great  patriots  speak  to  us  from  the 
tomb,  they  would  tell  us,  that  they  have  more  pleasure  in 
the  testimony  which  these  honors  bear  to  the  character  ot^ 
their  country,  than  in  that  which  they  bear  to  their  indi- 
vidual services. 

10.  They  now  see  as  they  were  seen  while  in  the  body, 
and  know  the  nature  of  the  feeling  from  which  these  honors 
How.  It  is  love  for  love.  It  is  the  gratitudeof  an  enlightened 
nation  to  the  noblest  order  of  benefactors.  It  is  the  only 
glory  worth  the  aspiration  of  a  generous  spirit.  Who  would 
not  prefer  this  living  tomb  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen, 
to  the  proudest  mausoleum'^  that  the  genius  of  sculpture  could 
erect ! 

11.  Man  has  been  said  to  he  the  creature  of  accidental  posi- 
tion. The  cast  of  his  character  has  been  thought  to  depend, 
materially,  on  the  age,  the  country,  and  the  circumstances  in 
which  he  has  lived.  To  a  considerable  extent,  the  remark  is 
no  doubt  true.  Cromwell,  had  he  been  born  in  a  republic, 
might  have  been  "guiltless  of  his  country's  blood ;"  and, 
but  for  those  civil  commotions  which  had  wrought  his  great 
mind  into  tempest,  even  Milton  might  have  rested  "mute 
and  inglorious." 

12.  The  occasion  is  doubtless  necessary  to  develop^  the 
talent,  whatsoever  it  may  be;  but  the  talent  must  exist,  in 
embryo'^  at  least,  or  no  occasion  can  quicken  it  into  life.  And 
It  must  exist,  too,  under  the  check  of  strong  virtues;  or  the 
same  occasion  that  quickens  it  into  life,  will  be  extremely  apt 
to  urge  it  on  to  crime.  The  hero  who  finished  his  career  at 
St.  Helena,  extraordinary  as  he  was,  is  a  far  more  common 
character  in  the  history  of  the  world,  than  he  who  sleeps  in 
our  neighborhood,  embalmed  in  his  country's  tears  ; — or  than 
those  whom  we  have  now  met  to  mourn  and  to  honor. 

13.  Jefferson  and  Adams  were  great  men  by  nature.  Not 
great  and  eccentric  minds  "  shot  madly  from  their  spheres' 
to  affright  the  world,  and  scatter  pestilence  in  their  course; 
but  minds,  Avhose  strong  and  steady  light,  restrained  within 
their  proper  orbits'^  by  the  happy  poise  of  their  characters, 
came  to  cheer  and  gladden  a  world  that  had  been  buried  for 
ages  in  political  night.  They  were  heaven-called  avengers 
of  degraded  man.  They  came  to  lift  him  to  the  station  for 
which  God  had  formed  him,  and  put  to  flight  those  idiot  su- 
perstitions with  which  tyrants  had  contrived  to  enthrall  his 
reason  and  his  liberty. 

aMau-so-le'-um,  a  magriificent  tomb,  d  Orb'its,  the  paths  of  planets  round 
/;De-vel' on,  lo  unfold.  their  centers. 

cEm'-bry-o,  the  rudiments  of  any 
iiing  not  fully  matured. 


1^8  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  pART   I. 

14.  And  that  being  wno  had  sent  them  upon  this  mission, 
had  fitted  them  pre-eminently  for  his  glorious  work.  He 
filled  their  hearts  with  a  love  of  country,  which  burned 
strong  within  them,  even  in  death.  He  gave  them  a  power 
of  miderstanding  which  no  sophistry*  could  baffle,  no  art 
elude ;  and  a  moral  heroism  which  no  dangers  could  appall. 
Careless  of  themselves,  reckless  of  all  personal  consequen- 
ces, trampling  under  foot  that  petty  ambition  of  office  and 
honor,  which  constitutes  the  master-passion  of  little  minds, 
they  bent  all  their  mighty  powers  to  the  task  for  which  they 
had  been  delegated — tlie  freedom  of  their  beloved  country, 
and  the  restoration  of  fallen  man. 

15.  They  felt  that  they  were  Apostles  of  human  liberty; 
and  well  did  they  fulfil  their  high  commissions — They  rest- 
ed not  until  they  had  accomplished  their  work  at  home, 
and  given  such  an  impulse  to  the  great  ocean  of  mind,  that 
they  saw  the  waves  rolling  on  the  farthest  shore  before  they 
were  called  to  their  reward:  and  then  left  the  world,  hand  in 
hand,  exulting,  as  they  rose,  in  the  success  of  their  labors. 


SECTION  XIII. 

Extract  from  an  Address  at  the  laying  of  the    Comer 
Stone  of  the  Bunker  Hill  Monument^  llth  June^  1825. 

1.  The  great  event  in  the  history  of  the  continent  which 
we  are  now  met  here  to  commemorate, — that  prodigy''  of 
modern  times,  at  once  the  wonder  and  blessing  of  the  world, 
is  the  American  revolution.  In  a  day  of  extraordinary  pros- 
perity and  happiness,  of  high  national  honor,  distinction,  and 
powder,  we  are  brought  together  in  this  place,  by  our  love  of 
country,  by  our  admiration  of  exalted  character,  by  our  gra- 
titude for  signal  services  and  patriotic  devotion. 

2.  And  while  we  are  enjoying  all  the  blessings  of  our  con- 
dition, and  looking  abroad  on  the  brightened  prospects  of  the 
world,  we  hold  still  among  us  some  of  those  who  were  active 
agents  in  the  scenes  of  1775,  and  who  are  now  here,  from 
every  quarter  of  New  England,  to  visit,  once  more,  and  under 
circumstances  so  affecting, — I  had  almost  said  so  over- 
whelming,— this  renowned  theater  of  their  courage  and  pa- 
triotism. 

3.  Venerable  men !  you  have  come  down  to  us  from  a  for- 
mer generation.  Heaven  has  bounteously  lengthened  out 
your  lives,  that  you  might  behold  this  joyous  day.  You  are 
now  here  where  you  stood  fifty  years  ago  this  very  hour, 

a  Sopl/-ist-ry,  fallacious  reasoning.       b  Prod'-i-gy,  a  surprising  thing. 


Chap.  VII.  public  speeches.  129 

with  your  brothers  and  your  neighbors,  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
in  the  strife  for  your  country.  Behold,  how  altered!  The 
same  heavens  are  indeed  over  your  heads;  the  same  ocean 
rolls  at  your  feet; — but  all  else  how  changed! 

4.  You  hear  now  no  roar  of  hostile  cannon. — you  see  no 
mixed  volumes  of  smoke  and  flame  rising  from  burning 
Charlestown.  The  ground  strow^ed  with  the  dead  and  the 
dying;  the  impetuous*  charge;  the  steady  and  successful  re- 
pulse; the  loud  call  to  repeated  assault;  the  summoning  of 
all  that  is  manly  to  repeated  resistance;  a  thousand  bosoms 
freely  and  fearlessly  bared  in  an  instant  to  whatever  of  terror 
there  may  be  in  war  and  death ;  all  these  you  have  witnessed, 
Dutyou  witness  them  no  more. 

5.  All  is  peace.  The  heights  of  yonder  metropolis,^  its 
towers  and  rc^fs  which  you  then  saw  filled  with  wives,  and 
children, and  countrymen,  in  distress  and  terror,  and  looking 
with  unutterable  emotions  for  the  issue  of  the  combat,  have 
presented  you  to-day  with  the  sight  of  its  whole  happy  popu- 
lation, come  out  to  welcome  and  greet  you  with  a  universal 
iubilee.'^  Yonder  proud  ships,  by  a  felicity  of  position  ap- 
propriately lying  at  the  foot  of  this  moui^f,  and  seeming 
ibndly  to  cl»ng  around  it,  are  not  means  of  annoyance  to 
you,  but  your  country's  own  m^ns  of  distinction  and  de- 
fense.        ^      •       ^^ 

6.  All  is  peace;  and  God  has  granted  you  this  sight  of 
your  country's  happiness,  ere  you  slumber  in  the  grave  for 
ever.  He  has  allowed  you  to  behold  and  to  partake  the  re- 
ward of  your  patriotic  toils;  and  he  has  allowed  cis,  your 
sons  and  countrymen,  to  meet  you  here,  and,  in  Uie  name  of 
the  present  generation,  in  the  name  of  your  jountry,  in  the 
liame  of  liberty,  to  thank  you. 

7.  But  the  scene  amidst  which  we  st'^.id,  does  not  permit 
us  to  confine  our  thoughts  or  our  sympathies  to  those  fearless 
spirits  who  hazarded  or  lost  their  Iwes  on  this  consecrated*^ 
spot.  We  have  the  happiness  to  rejoice  here  in  the  presence 
of  a  most  worthy  representation  of  the  survivors  of  the 
whole  revolutionary  army. 

8.  Veterans!  You  are  the  remnant  of  many  a  well-fought 
field.  You  ^ring  with  you  marks  of  honor  from  Trenton 
and  Monmouth,  from  Yorktown,  Camden,  Bennington,  and 
Saratoga.  Veterans  of  half  a  century!  when  in  your 
youthful  days  you  put  every  thing  at  hazard  in  your  coun- 
try's cause,  good  as  that  cause  was,  and  sanguine*  as  youth 
is,  still  your  fondest'hopes4id  not  stretch  onward  to  an  hour 

a  Im-pet'-u-oii3,  rushing  with  violence,  c  .Tu'-bi-lee,  a  public  periodical  fesUvaL 

b  Me-trop'-o  liri,  l!:e    ciiief  city  of  the  d  Con'-se-cra-ted,  liallovveU,  (li'.licuteU. 

country.  c  Sanguine,  confident,  lull  of  bluoil, 

9 


130  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  I. 

like  this  !  At  a  period  to  which  you  could  not  reasonably 
have  expected  to  arrive  ;  at  a  rnoment  of  national  prosperity, 
such  as  you  could  never  have  foreseen;  you  are  now  met 
here  to  enjoy  the  fellowship  of  old  soldiers,  and  to  receive 
the  overflowings  of  a  universal  gratitude. 

9.  But  your  agitated   countenances,  and    your   heaving 
'  breasts  inform  me,  that  even  this  is  not  an  unmixed  joy.     I 

r»erceive  that  a- tumult  of  contending  feelings  rushes  upon 
you.  The  images  of  the  dead,  as  well  as  the  persons  of  the 
living,  throng  to  your  embraces.  The  scene  overwhelms 
you,  and  I  turn  from  it.  May  the  father  of  all  mercies  bless 
them,  and  smile  upon  your  declining  years. 

10.  And  when  you  shall  here  have  exchanged  your  em- 
braces;  wlien  you  shall  once  more  have  pressed  the  hands 
which  have  been  so  often  extended  to  give  succor  in  adver- 
sity, or  grasped  in  the  exultation  of  victory;  then  look  abroad 
jnto  this  lovely  land,  which^your  young  valour  defended,  and 
mark  the  happiness  with  which  it  is  filled;  yea,  look  abroad 
into  the  whole  earth,  and  see  what  a  name  you  have  contri- 
buted to  give  to  ybur  country,  and  what  a  praise  you  have 
added  to  freedom;  and  then  rejoice  in  the  sympathy  and 
gratitude,  which  beam  upon  your  last  days  frbm  the  im- 
proved condition  of  mankind. 

SECTION    XIV. 

Speech  of  Titus  Quinciius  to  the  Romans, 

2.  Though  [  am  not  conscious,  O  Romans,  of  any  crime  by 
nie  committed,  it  is  yet  with  the  utmost  shame  and  confusion 
that  I  appear  in  your  assembly.  You  have  seen  it — posterity 
will  know  it! — in  the  fourth  consulship*  of  Titus  Quinctius 
the  iEqui  and  Volsi  (scarce  a  match  for  the  Hernici  alone) 
came  in  arms  to  the  very  gates  of  Rome, — and  went  away 
unchastised ! 

2.  The  course  of  our  manners,  indeed,  and  the  state  of  our 
affairs  have  long  been  such,  that  I  had  no  reason  to  presage 
much  good  ;  but,  could  I  have  imagined  that  so  great  an  ig- 
nominy would  have  befallen  me  this  year,  I  would,  by  banish- 
ment of  death,  (if  all  other  means  had  failed,)  have  avoided 
the  station  I  am  now  in.  What !  might  Rome  then  have  been 
taken,  if  these  men  who  Avere  at  our  gates  had  not  wanted 
courage  for  the  attempt? — Rome  taken  whilst  I  was  consul ! 
Of  honors  I  had  sufficient — of  life  enough — more  than  enough 
— I  should  have  died  in  my  third  consulate. 

a  Con'-sulship,  a  chief  ofSce  in  ancient  Home. 


Chap.  VII.  public  speeches.  131 

3.  But  who  are  they  that  onr  dastardly*  enemies  thus  de- 
spise?— the  consuls,  or  you,  Romans?  If  we  are  in  fault, 
depose^  us,  or  punish  us  yet  more  severely.  If  you  are  to 
blame — may  neither  Gods  nor  men  punish  your  faults!  only 
may  you  repent! — ^No,  Romans,  the  confidence  of  your  ene 
mie>  is  not  owing  to  iheir  courage,  or  to  their  belief  of  your 
cowardice :  they  have  been  too  often  vanquished  not  to  know 
both  themselves  and  you. 

4.  Discord,  discord  is  the  ruin  of  this  city!  The  eternal 
dispute-  between  the  senate  and  the  people,  are  the  sole  cause 
of  our  misfortunes,  While  we  set  no  bounds  to  our  dominion, 
nor  you  to  your  liberty  ;  Avhile  you  impatiently  endure  Pa- 
trician magistrates,  and  we  Plebeian  ;  our  enemies  take  heart, 
grow  elated  and  presumptuous.  In  the  name  of  the  inmior- 
tal  gods,  what  is  it,  Romans,  you  would  have?  You  desired 
Tribunes ;'' — for  the  sake  of  peace,  we  granted  them.  You 
were  eage^r  to  have  Decemvirs  ;'^ — we  consented  to  their  cre- 
ation. You  grew  weary  of  these  decemvirs  ; — we  obliged 
them  to  abdicate. « 

5.  Your  hatred  pursued  them  when  reduced  to  private  men  ; 
and  we  suflered  you  to  put  to  death,  or  banish.  Patricians  of 
the  first  rank  in  the  republic.  You  insisted  upon  the  restora- 
tion of  the  Tnbuneship  ; — w^e  yielded  ;  we  quietly  saw  Con- 
suls of  your  own  faction?  elected.  You  have  the  protection  of 
your  tribunes,  and  the  privilege  of  appeal;  the  Patricians 
are  subjected  to  the  decrees  of  the  Commons.  .  Under  pre- 
tense of  equal  and  imparti-jl  laws,  you  have  invaded  our 
rights;  and  we  have  suffered  it. and  we  still  suffer  it.  When 
shall  we  see  an  end  of  discord?  When  shall  we  have  one  in- 
terest, and  one  common  country  ?  Victorious  and  triumf)liant, 
you  show  less  temper  than  we  under  defeat.  When  you  are 
to  contend  with  ijs,  you  can  seize  the  Aventine  hill — you  can 
possess  yourselves  of  the  Mons  Sacer. 

6.  The  enemy  i>  at  our  gates, — the  ^^,quiline  is  near  being 
taken, — and  nol^ody  stirs  to  hinder  it!  Butagainstusyou  are 
valiant;  against  us  you  can  arn^  with  diligence.  Come  on, 
then,  besioire  the  sei.ate-hou  e,  make  a  camp  of  the  forum,  fill 
the  jails  with  our  chief  nobles,  and  when  you  have  achieved 
these  glorious  exploits,  then,  at  last,  sally  out  at  the  ^Esqyi- 
line  gMte  with  the  same  fierce   pirits  against  the  enemy. 

7.  Does  your  resolution  fail  you  for'tliis?  Go,  then,  and 
beho  d  from  our  walls  your  lands  ravaged,  your  houses  plun- 

a  Das'-tnrd-ly,  cowardly,  menn^y^  d  Dec-em'-yirs,  ten  men  who  govern- 

b  f)<>-po>if'.  to  Ihv  down,  df'tlirone.  ed  the    commonwealth    instead    of 

c  Trii/  iiiies,  i'eepevs  of  the  htjcrties      consids. 

'ople  fteainst  the  encroach-  e  A^b'-di  C3it(\  toa'tandoji  an  office. 
•'"•  S^-nare. 


132  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   I. 

dered  and  in  flames,  the  whole  country  laid  waste  with  fire 
and  sword.  Have  you  any  thing  here  to  repair  these  damages  ? 
Will  the  tribunes  make  up  your  losses  to  you  ?  They  will 
give  you  words  as  many  as  you  please ;  bring  impeachments' 
in  abundance  against  the  prime  men  of  the  state ;  heap  laws 
upon  laws ;  assemblies  you  shall  have  without  end  ; — but  will 
any  of  you  return  the  richer  from  those  assemblies? 

8.  Extinguish,  O  Romans  !  these  fatal  divisions ;  generously 
break  this  cursed  enchantment,  which  keeps  you  buried  in  a 
scandalous  inaction.  Open  your  eyes,  and  consider  the  ma- 
nagement of  those  ambitious  men,  who,  to  make  themselves 
powerful  in  their  party,  study  nothing  but  how  they  may 
foment^  divisions  in  the  commonwealth. — If  you  can  but 
summon  up  your  former  courage,  if  you  will  now  march 
out  of  Rome  with  your  consuls,  there  is  no  punishment  you 
can  inflict  which  I  will  not  submit  to,  if  I  do  not  in  a  few 
days  drive  those  pillagers  out  of  our  territory.  This  terror 
of  war,  with  which  you  seem  so  grievously  struck,  shall 
quickly  be  removed  from  Rome  to  their  own  cities. 

SECTION   XV. 

Extract  from  Judge  Story'' s  Centennial  Address,  delivered 
at  Salem,  Mass.,  Sept.  18,  1S28. 

1.  When  we  reflect  on  what  has  been,  and  is  now,  is  it  pos- 
sible "not  to  feel  a  profound  sense  of  the  responsibleness  of 
this  Republic  to  all  future  ages?  What  vast  motives  press 
upon  us  for  lofty  efforts.  What  brilliant  prospects  invite  our 
enthusiasm.  What  solemn  warnings  at  once  demand  our 
vigilance,  and  moderate  our  confidence. 

2.  The  old  world  has  already  revealed  to  us  in  its  unsealed 
books,  the  beginning  and  end  ofallitsown  marvelous  strug- 
gles in  the  cause  of  liberty.  Greece,  lovely  Greece,  "  the  land 
of  scholars  and  the  nurse  of  arms,"  where  sister  republics  in 
fair  processions  chanted  the  praises  of  liberty  and  the  gods  j 
where  and  what  is  she?  For  two  thousand  years  the  op- 
pressor has  bound  her  to  the  earth.  Her  arts  are  no  more. 
The  last  sad  relics  of  her  temples  are  but  the  barracks  of  a 
ruthless  soldiery  ;  the  fragments  of  her  columns  and  her  pa- 
laces are  in  the  dust,  yet  beautiful  in  ruin. 

3.  She  fell  not  when  the  mighty  were  upon  her.  Her  sons 
were  united  at  Thermopylae  and  Marathon;  and  the  tide  of 
her  triumph  rolled  back  upon  the  Hellespont.  She  was  con- 
quered by  her  own  factions.  She  fell  by  the  hands  of  her  own 

a  Ijn-peach'-rnents,  accusations  by  au-    b  Foment,  to   cherish  with  heat,  to 
tliority.  bathe. 


Chap.  VII.  public  speeches.  133 

people.  The  man  of  Macedonia  did  not  the  work  of  destrue- 
lion.  It  was  already  done  by  her  own  corruption,  banish- 
ments, and  dissensions.  Rome,  republican  Rome,  whose 
eagles  glanced  in  the  rising  and  netting  sun,  where,  and  what 
is  she?  The  eternal  city  yet  remains,  proud  even  in  her 
desolation,  noble  in  her  decline,  venerable  in  the  majesty  of 
religion,  and  calm  as  in  the  composure  of  death. 

4.  The  malariar^  has  but  traveled  in  the  paths  worn  by  her 
destroyers.  More  than  eighteen  centuries  have  mourned  over 
the  loss  of  her  empire.  A  mortal  disease  was  upon  her  vitals, 
before  Ccesar  had  crossed  the  Rubicon;  and  Brutus  did  not 
restore  her  health  by  the  deep  probings  of  the  senate  cham- 
ber. The  Goths  and  Vandals  and  Huns — the  swarms  of  the 
north — completed  only  what  was  already  begun  at  home. 
Romans  betrayed  Rome.  The  legions  were  bought  and 
sold  ;  but  the  people  offered  the  tribute  money. 

5.  And  where  are  the  republics  of  modern  times,  which 
clustered  around  immortal  Italy?  Venice  and  Genoa  exist 
but  in  name.  The  Alps,  indeed,  look  down  upon  the  brave 
and  peaceful  Swiss,  in  their  native  fastnesses;  but  the  gua- 
ranty'' of  their  freedom  is  in  their  weakness,  and  not  in  their 
strength.  The  mountains  are  not  easily  crossed,  and  the 
valleys  are  not  easily  retained. 

6.  When  the  invader  comes,  he  moves  like  an  avalanche,* 
carrying  destruction  in  his  path.  The  peasantry  sink  before 
him.  Tne  country  is  too  poor  for  plunder,  and  too  rough  for 
valuable  conquest.  Nature  presents  her  eternal  barriers  oa 
every  side,  to  check  the  wantonness  of  ambition;  and  Swit- 
zerland remains  with  her  simple  institutions,  a  military  road 
to  tairer  climates,  scarcely  worth  a  permanent  possession, 
and  protected  by  the  jealousy  of  her  neighbors. 

7.  We  stand  the  latest,  and,  if  we  fail,  probably  the  last 
experiment  of  self-government  by  the  people.  We  have  be- 
gun it  under  circumstances  of  the  most  auspicious'*  nature. 
We  are  in  the  vigour  of  youth.  Our  growth  has  never  been 
checked  by  the  oppressions  of  tyranny.  Our  constitutions 
have  never  been  enfeebled,  by  the  vices  or  luxuries  of  the  old 
world.  Such  as  we  are,  we  have  been  from  the  beginning; 
simple,  hardy,  intelligent,  accustomed  to  self-government 
and  self-respect. 

8.  The  Atlantic  rolls  between  us  and  any  formidable  foe. 
Within  our  own  territory,  stretching  through  many  degrees 
of  latitude  and  longitude,  we  have^the  choice  of  many  pro- 
ducts, and  many  means  of  independence.    The  government 

a  Ma-la'-ri-a,  ill  air,  peculiar  to  some       c  Av'-a-lanchc,  a  vast  body  of  snow 

parts  of  Italy.  slidiiij;  down  a  mountain 

oGuar'-an-tv,  a  vrarrant.  d  Aus-pi"-ciou8,  lucky,  favorable. 


134  NEW    ENGLISPI    READER.  pART    I. 

is  mild.  The  press  is  free.  Religion  is  free.  Knowledge 
reaches,  or  may  reach  every  home.  What  fairer  pros),ect  of 
success  could  be  [resented?  What  means  more  adequate  to 
accomplish  the  sublime  end?  What  more  is  necessary, 
than  ibr  the  people  to  preserve  what  they  themselves  have 
created  ? 

9.  Already  has  the  age  caught  the  spirit  of  our  institutions. 
It  has  already  ascended  the  Andes,  and  snulfed  the  breezes 
of  both  oceans.  It  has  infused  itself  into  the  life-blood  of 
Europe,  and  warmed  the  sunny  plains  of  France,  and  the 
low  lands  of  Holland.  It  has  touched  the  philosophy  of 
Germ;my  and  the  North,  and,  moving  onward  to  the  South, 
has  opened  to  Greece  the  lessons  of  her  better  days. 

10.  Can  it  be  that  America,  under  such  circumstances,  can 
betray  herself? — that  she  is  to  be  added  to  th^  catalogue  of 
Republics,  the  inscription  of  whose  ruin  is,  "  they  were,  but 
they  are  not."  Forbid  it,  my  countrymen  ;  forbid  it,  Heaven. 

11.  I  call  upon  you,  fathers,  by  the  shades  of  your  ances- 
tors, by  the  dear  ashes  which  repose  in  this  precious  soil,  by 
all  you  are,  and  all  you  hope  to  be, — resist  every  project  of 
disunion, — resist  every.encroachment''  upon  your  liberties, — 
resist  every  attempt  to  fetter  your  consciences,  or  smother 
your  public  schools,  or  extinguish  your  system  of  public  in- 
struction. 

12.  1  call  upon  you,  mothers,  by  that  which  never  fails  in 
woman, — the  love  of  your  oflspring, — teach  them,  as  they 
climb  your  knees,  or  lean  on  your  bosom,  the  blessing  of 
liberty.  Swear  them  at  the  altar,  as  with  their  baptismal 
vows,  to  be  true  to  their  country,  and  never  to  forget  or  to 
forsake  her. 

13.  I  call  upon  you,  young  men,  to  remember  whose  sons 
you  are — whose  inheritance*'  you  possess.  Life  can  never 
be  too  short,  which  brings  nothing  but  disgrace  and  oppres- 
sion. Death  never  comes  too  soon,  if  necessary  in  defense 
of  the  liberties  of  your  country. 

14.  I  call  upon  you,  old  men,  for  your  counsels,  and  your 
prayers,  and  your  benedictions.'  May  not  your  gray  hairs 
go  down  in  sorrow  to  the  grave,  with  the  recollection  that 
vou  have  lived  in  vain.  May  not  your  last  sun  sink  in  the 
west  upon  a  nation  of  slaves. 

15.  No — I  read  in  the  destiny  of  my  country,  far  better 
iiopes,  far  brighter  visions.  We  who  are  now  assembled 
.xere,  must  soon  be  gathered  to  the  congregation  of  other  days. 
The  time  for  our  departure  is  at  hand,  to  make  way  for  our 

a  Ea-croach'-ment,  unlawful  intrusion,  c  Bene- die'- tions,  blessings,  acknow- 
b  n-her'-it-ance,  hereditary  estate.  ledguieuts. 


Chap.  VII.  public  speeches.  135 

children  upon  the  theater  of  life.  May  God  speed  them  and 
theirs.  May  he  who  at  the  distance  of  another  century  shall 
stand  here  to  celebrate  this  day,  still  look  round  upon  a  free, 
happy,  and  virtuous  people.  May  he  have  reason  to  exult  as 
we  do.  May  he,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  truth,  as  well  ds 
of  poetry,  exclaim,  that  here  is  still  his  country  — 

"  Zealous,  yet  modest ;  innocent,  though  free  ; 
Patient  (it'toil ;  serene  amidst  alarms ; 
IniieAible in  faith;  invincible  in  arms." 


SECTION    XVI. 

On  the  Formation  of  Character,  and  the  attainment  cj 
knowledge  : — Addressed  to  the  Am,erican  Youth, 

A  GOOD  name  is  in  all  cases  the  fruit  of  personal  exer- 
tion. It  is  not  inherited  from  parents  ;  it  is  not  created  by  ex- 
ternal advantages ;  it  is  no  necessary  appendage  of  birth,  or 
wealth,  or  talents,  or  station  ;  but  the  result  of  one's  own  en- 
deavors,— the  fruit  and  reward  of  good  principles,  manifest 
in  a  course  of  virtuous  and  honorable  action.  This  is  the 
more  important  to  be  remarked,  because  it  shows  that  the 
attainment  of  a  good  name,  whatever  be  your  external  cir- 
cumstances, is  entirely  within  your  power. 

2.  No  young  man,  however  humble  his  birth,  or  obscure 
his  condition,  is  excluded  from  the  invaluable  boon.*  He  has 
only  to  fix  his  eyes  upon  the  prize,  and  press  toward  it  in  a 
course  of  virtuous  and  useful  conduct,  and  it  is  his.  And  it 
is  interesting  to  notice  how  many  of  our  worthiest  and  best 
citizens. iiave  risen  to  honor  and  usefulness  by  their  own  per- 
severing exertions.  They  are  to  be  found  in  great  numbers, 
in  each  of  the  learned  professions,  and  in  every  department 
of  business  ;  and  they  stand  forth,  bright  and  animating  ex- 
amples of  what  can  be  accomplislied  by  resolution  and  effort. 

3.  Indeed,  in  the  formation  of  character,  personal  exertion 
is  the  first,  the  second,  and  the  third  virtue.  Nothing  great 
or  excellent  can  be  acquired  without  it.  A  good  name  Avill 
not  come  without  being  sought.  All  the  virtues  of  which  it 
is  composed,  are  the  result  of  untiring  application  and  indus- 
try. Nothing  can  be  more  fatal  to  the  attainment  of  a  good 
character,  than  a  treacherous  confidence  in  external  advanta- 
ges. These,  if  not  seconded  by  your  own  endeavors,  will 
"drop  you  mid-way,  or  perhaps  you  will  not  have  started, 
when  the  diligent  traveler  will  have  won  the  race." 

4.  Thousands  of  young  men  have  been  ruined  by  relying 

a  Boon,  a  gift,  favor. 


136  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   1. 

for  a  2:00;!  name  on  their  honorable  parentage,  or  inherited 
wealth,  or  the  patronage  of  iViends.  P^iattered  by  these  dis- 
tinctions, they  have  felt  as  if  they  might  live  v^ithout  plan 
and  without  eilbrt, — merely  for  their  own  gratification  and 
indulgence.  No  mistake  is  more  fatal.  It  always  issues  in 
producing  an  inefficient*  and  useless  character. 

5.  On  this  account,  it  is,  ihat  character  and  wealth  rarely 
continue  in  the  same  family,  more  than  two  or  three  gene- 
rations. The  younger  branches,  placing  a  deceptive  confi- 
dence in  an  hereditary  character,  neglect  the  means  of  forming 
one  of  their  own,  and  often  exist  in  society  only  a  reproach 
to  the  worthy  ancestry,  whose  name  they  bear. 

6.  In  the  formation  of  a  good  character,  it  is  of  great  im- 
portance that  the  early  part  of  life  he  improved  and  guarded, 
with  the  utmost  diligence  and  carefulness.  The  most* critical 
period  of  life  is  that  which  elapses^'  from  fourteen  to  twenty- 
one  years  of  age.  More  is  done  during  this  period,  to  mould 
and  settle  the  character  of  the  future  man,  than  in  ail  the 
other  years  of  life. 

7.  If  a  young  man  passes  this  season  with  pure  morals 
and  a  fair  reputation,  a  ^ood  name  is  almost  sure  to  crown 
his  maturer  years,  and  descend  with  him  to  the  close  of  his 
days.  On  the  other  hand,  if  a  young  man  in  this  spring  sea- 
son of  life  neglects  his  mind  and  heart;  if  he  indulges  him- 
self in  vicious  courses,  and  forms  habits  of  inefficiency  and 
slothfulness,  he  experiences  a  loss  which  no  effort  can  re- 
trieve,' and  brings  a  stain  upon  his  character  which  no  tears 
can  wash  av/ay. 

8.  Life  will  inevitably  take  much  (5f  its  shape  and  colormg, 
from  the  pla?:4ic^  powers  that  are  now  operating.  Every 
thing,  almost,  depends  upon  giving  a  proper  direction  to  this 
outset  of  life.  The  course  now  taken  is  usually  decisive. — 
The  principles  noAv  adopted,  and  the  habits  now  formed, 
whether  good  or  bad,  becouie  a  kind  of  second  nature,  fixed 
and  permanent. 

9.  Youthful  thoughtlessness,  I  know,  is  wont  to  regard  the 
indiscretions  and  vicious  indulgencies  of  this  periud,  as  of 
very  little  importance.  But  they  have  great  intiuence  in 
forming  your  future  character,  and  deciding  the  estimation  in 
which  you  are  to  be  held  m  the  community.  Tijey  are  the 
germs  of  bad  habits  ;  and  bad  habits  confirmed,  are  ruin  to 
the  character  and  the  soul.  The  errors  and  vices  of  a  young 
man,  even  when  they  do  not  ripen  into  habit,  impress  a  blot 
on  the  name  which  is  rarely  effaced.    They  are  remembered 

a  In-ef-fi"-cient^  not  efflcient.  c  Re-tneve',  to  recoier  .-xsrain. 

fr El-aps'-Cfc',  passes  away.  c/ l*las'-tic,  fonuing,  giving  loim 


Chap.  VIT.  public  speeches.  137 

[i\  subsequent  life;  the  public  eye  is  often  turning  back  to 
them;  tlie  stigma*  is  seen  ;  it  cleaves  fast  to  the  character, 
and  its  unhappy  effects  are  felt  till  the  end  of  his  days. 

.10.  "  A  fair  reputation,  it  should  be  remembered,  is  a  plant, 
delicate  in  its  nature,  and  by  no  means  rapid  in  its  growth. 
It  will  not  shoot  up  in  a  night,  like  the  gourd  that  shaded 
the  prophtjt's  head;  but  like  that  same  gourd,  it  may  perish 
in  a  night."  A  character  which  it  has  cost  many  years  to  esta- 
blish, is  often  destroyed  in  a  single  hour,  or  even  minute. 
Guard  then,  with  peculiar  vigilance,  this  forming,  fixing  sea- 
son of  your  existence;  and  let  the  precious  days  and  hours 
that  are  now  pssr>ing  by  you,  be  diligently  occupied  in  acqui- 
ring those  habits  of  intelligence,  of  virtue  and  enterprise, 
which  are  so  essential  to  the  honor  and  success  of  future  life. 

11.  To  the  formation  of  a  good  character  it  is  of  the  high- 
est importance  tliat  you  have  a  commanding  object  in  view, 
and  that  your  aim  in  life  be  elevated.  To  this  cause,  perhaps, 
more  than  to  any  other,  is  to  be  ascribed  the  greai  difference 
which  appears  in  the  characters  of  men.  Some  start  in  life 
with  an  object  in  view,  and  are  determined  to  attain  it ;  while 
others  live  witiiout  plan,  and  reach  not  for  the  })rize  set  be- 
fore them.  The  energies  of  the  One  are  called  into  vigorous 
action,  and  they  rise  to  eminence,  while  the  others  are  left 
to  slumber  in  ignoble  ease,  and  sink  into  obscurity. 

12.  It  is  an  old  proverb,  that  he  who  aims  at  the  sun,  to  be 
sure  will  not  reach  it,  but  his  arrow  will  fly  higher  than  if  he 
aimed  at  an  object  on  a  level  with  himself.  Ju:..t  so  in  the  for- 
mation of  character.  Set  your  standard  high  ;  and,  though 
you  may  not  reach  it,  you  can  hardly  fail  to  rise  higher  than 
if  you  aimed  at  some  inferior  excellence.  Young  men  are  not, 
in  general,  conscious''  of  what  they  are  capable  of  doing. 
They  do  not  task  their  faculties,  nor  improve  their  powers, 
nor  attempt,  as  they  ought,  to  rise  to  superior  excellence. 
They  have  no  high,  commanding  ol>ject  at  which  to  aim; 
but  often  seem  to  be  passing  away  life,  without  object  and 
without  aim. 

13.  The  consequence  is,  their  efforts  are  few  and  feeble  ; 
they  are  not  waked  up  to  any  thing  great  or  distinguished  ; 
and  theretore  fail  to  acquire  a  character  of  decided  worth. 
But,  my  friends,  you  may  be  whatever  you  resolve  to  be. 
Resolution  is  omnipotent.'  Determine  that  you  will  be  some- 
thing in  the  world,  and  you  shall  be  something.  Aim  at  ex- 
cellence, and  excelien<:e  will  be  attained.  This  is  the  great 
secret  of  effort  and  eminence. 

aStiit'-mn,  markof.lisgrace.  c  Om-nip'-o-tent,   having  almighty 

b  Cou'-scious,  inwardly  porsuaded.  power. 


138  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   I. 

14.  The  circumstances  in  which  you  are  placed  as  the  mem- 
bers of  a  free  and  intelligent  community,' also  demand  of  you 
a  careful  improvement  of  the  means  of  knowledge  youenjoy. 
You  live  in  an  age  of  great  mental-"^  excitement.  The  public 
raind  is  awake,  and  society  in  general  is  fast  rising  on  the 
scale  of  improvement.  At  the  same  time,  the  means  of 
knowledge  are  most  abundant.  They  exist  every  where 
and  in  the  richest  variety. 

15.  Nor  were  stronger  inducements**  ever  held  out  to  en- 
gage all  classes  of  people  in  the  diligent  use  of  these  means. 
Useful  talents  of  every  kind  are  in  great  demand.  The  field 
of  enterprise  is  widening  and  spreading  around  you.  The 
road  to  wealth,  to  honor,  to  usefulness,  and  happiness,  is  open 
to  all.  and  all  who  will  may  enter  upon  it,  with  the  almost 
certain  pro^-pect  of  success.  In  this  free  community  there 
are  no  privileged  orders.  Every  man  finds  his  level.  If  he 
has  talents  he  will  be  known  and  estimated,  and  rise  in  the 
respect  and  confidence  of  society. 

16.  Added  to  this,  every  man  is  here  a  freeman.  He  has  a 
voice  in  the  election  of  rulers,  in  making  and  executing  the 
laws,  and  may  be  called  to  fill  important  places  of  honor  and 
trust,  in  the  community  of  which  he  is  a  member.  What  then 
is  the  duty  of  persons  in  these  circumstances?  Are  they  not 
called  to  cultivate  their  minds,  to  improve  their  talents,  and 
acquire  the  knowledge  which  is  necessary  to  enable  them  to 
act,  with  honor  and  usefulness,  that  part  assigned  them  on 
the  stage  of  life  ? 

17.  Can  any  expect  to  maintain  a  respectable  standing  in 
society,  if,  while  others  are  rising  around  them,  they  neglect 
the  means  to  rise  with  them?  If  any  please  thus  to  neglect 
their  opportunities'for  acquiring  knowledge,  they  can  have 
their  choice ;  hut  let  them  at  the  same  time  make  up  their 
minds  to  exist  as  mere  cyphers  in  society;  to  be  hewers  of 
wood  and  drawers  of  water;  to  float  down  as  leaves  upon 
the  bosom  of  the  stream,  unknown,  unregarded,  soon  to  be 
forgotten  as  if  tliey  had  never  been. 

18.  A  diligent  use  of  the  means  of  knowledge,  accord  well 
with  your  nature  as  rational  and  immortal  beings.  God  has 
given  you  minds  v/hich  are  capable  of  indefinite  improve- 
ment; he  has  placed  you  m  circumstances  peculiarly  favor- 
able for  making  such  improvement ;  and  to  inspire  you  with 
diligence  in  mounting  up  the  shining  course  before  you,  he 
points  you  to  the  prospect  of  an  endless  existence  beyond  the 
grave ;  and  assures  you  that  the  glories,  and  the  woes  of  it 
depend  on  the  character  you  form  at  this  period  of  your  life. 

a  Ment'al,  belonsiiis  to  the  mind.  c  Ap-prox.-i-ma  -tion.  a  near  approach. 

0  In-U"   ■^''^'i**^-      •-^' 


Chap.  VIII.  promiscuous  pieces.  139 

19.  Here,  is  an  argument  of  infiniie  weight  for  the  cultiva- 
tion of  your  intellectual  and  moral  powers.     If  you  who  pos- 

ess  these  powers  were  destined,  after  spending  a  few  days 
on  eariU,  to  fall  into  non-existence  ;  if  there  were  nothing  in 
you  which  death  cannot  destroy,  nor  the  grave  cover,  there 
would  indeed  be  hut  little  inducement  to  cultivate  your  minds. 
"For  who  would  take  pains  to  trim  a  taper  which  shines  but 
for  a  moment,  and  can  never  be  lighted  again  ?" 

20.  But  if  you  have  minds  which  are  capable  of  endless 
progression  in  knowledge,  of  endless  approxiniation*  to  the 
supreme  intelligence  ;  if  in  the  midst  of  unremitting  success, 
objects  of  new  interest  will  be  forever  opening  before  you; — 
O  what  prospects  are  presented  to  your  view  !  What  strong 
inducements  to  cultivate  your  mind  and  heart,  and  to  enter 
upon  that  course  of  improvement  here,  which  is  to  run  on 
brightening  in  glory  and  in  bliss,  ages  without  end. — Ilawes. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PROMISCUOUS    PIECES. 


The  incidents^  of  a  Voyage  across  the  Atlantic. 

1.  To  an  American  visiting  Europe,  the  long  voyage  he 
has  to  make  is  an  excellent  preparative.  From  the  moment 
you  lose  sight  of  the  land  you  have  left,  all  is  vacanr-y  until 
you  step  on  the  opposite  shore,  and  are  launched  at  once  into 
the  bustle  and  novelties  of  another  world. 

2.  I  have  said  that  at  sea  all  is  vacancy.  I  should  correct 
the  expression.  To  one  given  up  to  day-dreaming,  and  foFid 
of  losing  himself  in  reveries,^  a  sea  voyage  is  fuH  of  subjects 
for  meditation;  but  then  they  are  the  wonders  of  the  deep, 
and  of  the  air,  and  rather  tend  to  abstract  the  mind  from 
worldly  themes.  I  delighted  to  loll  over  the  quarter-railing, 
or  climb  to  the  main-top  on  a  calm  day,  and  muse  for  hours 
together  ori  the  tranquil  bosom  of  a  summer's  sea  :  or  to  gaze 
upon  the  piles  of  golden  clouds  just  peering  above  the  hori- 
zon, fancy  them  some  fairy  realms,  and  people  them  with  a 
creation  of  my  own,  or  to  watch  the  gentle  undulating  billows 
rolling  their  silver  volumes,  as  if  to  die  awavon  those  happy 
shores. 

3.  There  was  a  delicious  sensation  of  mingled  security 
and  awe,  with  which  I  looked  down  from  my'giddy  height 

a  Ap-prox-i-ma'-tion,  a  near  approach,  c  Rev'-e-ries,  loose  iliou'ihts. 
0  hi  -ci-dentsj  tilings  that  Imppeu. 


140  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  T. 

on  the  monsters  of  the  deep  at  their  uncouth  gambols^ — 
shoals  of  porpoises  tumbling  about  the  bow  of  the  ship, — the 
grampus  slowly  heaving  his  huge  form  above  the  surface, — 
or  the  ravenous*  shark,  darting  like  a  spectre  through  the 
blue  Avaters.  My  imagination  would  conjure  up  all  that  I 
had  heard  or  read  of  the  watery  world  beneath  me  ;  of  the 
finny  herds  that  roam  its  fathomless  valleys  ;  of  shapeless 
monsters  that  lurk  among  the  very  foundations  of  tiie  earth; 
and  those  wild  phantasms^  that  swell  the  tales  of  fishermen 
and  sailors. 

4.  Sometimes  a  distant  sail,  gliding  along  the  edge  of  the 
ocean,  would  be  another  theme"^  of  idle  speculation.  How 
interesting  tiiis  fragment  of  a  world,  hastening  to  rejoin  the 
great  mass  of  existence  !  What  a  glorious  monument  of  hu- 
man invention,  that  has  thus  triumphed  overwind  and  wave; 
has  brought  the  ends  of  the  earth  in  communion  ;  has  esta- 
blished an  interchange  of  blessings,  pouring  into  the  sterile 
regions  &f  the  north,  all  the  luxuries  of  the  south  ;  diffused 
the  light  of  knowledge  and  the  charities  of  cultivated  life  ; 
and  has  thus  bound  together  those  scattered  portions  of  the 
human  race,  between  which  nature  seems  to  have  thrown  an 
insurmountable  barrier  I'* 

5.  We  one  day  descried  some  shapeless  object  drifting  at 
a  distance.  At  sea,  every  thing  that  breaks  the  monotony* 
of  the  surrounding  expanse,  attracts  attention.  It  proved  to 
be  the  mast  of  a  ship  that  must  have  been  completely  wreck- 
ed ;  for  there  were  the  remains  of  handkerchiefs,  by  which 
uome  of  the  crew  had  fastened  themselves,  to  this  spar,  to 
prevent  their  being  washed  ofl'by  the  waves.  There  was  no 
trace  by  which  the  name  of  the  ship  could  be  ascertained. 
The  wreck  had  evidently  drifted  about  for  many  months: 
clusters  of  shell-fish  had  fastened  about  it,  and  long  sea- 
weeds flaunted  at  its  sides.  But  where,  thought  I,  is  the  crew? 
—  Their  struggle  has  long  been  over;  they  have  gone  down 
amidst  the  roar  of  the  tempest ;  their  bones  lie  whitening  in 
the  caverns  of  the  deep.  Silen.ce — oblivion,  like  tlie  waves, 
has  closed  oved  them,  and  no  one  can  tell  the  story  of  their 
end. 

6.  What  sighs  have  been  wafted  after  that  ship!  what 
prayers  offered  up  at  the  deserted  fire-side  of  home  !  How 
often  has  the  mistress,  the  wife,  and  the  mother,  poured  over 
the  daily  news  to  catch  some  casuaK  intelligence  of  this 
rover  of   the  deep  !     How   has  expectation  darkened   into 

n  Rav'-en-ous,  voracious,  very  htmcry.  d  Uar'-rier,  a  boundary,  limit 
iPlian'-lasms,  imaj^es  ol'extenial  ob-   e  Mo-not'-.-ny.  sameness. 

jectsi.     .  /Cas'-u-aL  happening  wiUiout  design. 

cTb^me,  subject,  topic. 


Chap.  VIII.  prOxMiscuous  pieces.  141 

anxiety — anxiety  into  dread — and  dread  into  despair.  Alas  ! 
not  one  memento  shall  ever  return  for  love  to  cherish.  All 
that  shall  ever  be  known  is,  that  she  sailed  from  her  port, 
'  and  was  never  heard  of  more." 

7.  The  sight  of  the  wreck,  as  usual,  gave  rise  to  many 
dismal  anecdotes.*  This  was  particularly  the  case  in  the 
evening,  when  the  weather,  which  had  hitherto  been  fair, 
began  to  look  Avild  and  threatening,  and  gave  indications  of 
one  of  those  sudden  storms  that  will  s6metimes  break  in  upon 
the  serenity''  of  a  summer  voyage.  As  wo  sat  round  the  dull 
light  of  a  lamp,  in  the  cabin,  that  made  the  gloom  more 
ghastly,  every  one  had  his  tale  of  shipwreck  and  disaster.  I 
was  particularly  struck  with  a  short  one  related  by  the  captain. 

8.  "  As  I  was  once  sailing,"  said  he,  "  in  a  fine  stout  ship 
a<!ross  the  banks  of  Newfoundland,  one  of  the  heavy  fogs 
that  prevail  in  those  parts,  rendered  it  impossible  for  me  to 
see  far  a-head,  even  in  the  day  time ;  but  at  night  the  weather 
was  so  thick  that  we  could  not  distinguish  any  object  at 
twice  the  length  of  our  ship.  I  kept  lights  at  the  mast-head, 
and  a  constant  watch  forward  to  look  out  for  fishing-smacks, 
which  are  accustomed  to  lie  at  anchor  on  the  banks.  The 
wind  was  blowing  a  smacking  breeze,  and  we  were  going  a 
great  rate  through  the  water. 

9.  "Suddenly  the  watch  gave  the  alarm  of  ^a  sail  a-head  !' 
but  it  was  scarcely  uttered  till  we  were  upon  her.  She  was 
a  small  schooner  at  anchor,  with  her  broadside  toward  us. — 
The  crew  were  all  asleep,  and  had  neglected  to  hoist  a  light. 
We  struck  her  just  a-mid-ships.  The  force,  the  size,  and 
the  weight  of  our  vessel,  bore  her  down  below  the  waves;  we 
passed  over  her,  and  were  hurried  on  our  course. 

10.  "  As  the  crashing  wreck  Was  sinking  beneath  us,  I 
had  a  glimpse  of  two  or  three  half-naked  wretches,  rushing 
from  her  cabin:  they  had  just  started  from  their  beds  to  be 
swallowed  shrieking  by  the  waves.  I  heard  their  drowning 
cry  mingling  with  the  wind.  The  blast  that  bore  it  to  our 
ears,  sv/ept  us  out  of  all  further  hearing.  I  shall  never  forget 
that  cry!  It  was  some  time  before  we  could  put  the  ship 
about,  she  was  under  such  headway.  We  returned,  as  nearly 
as  we  could  judge,  to  the  place  where  the  smack  was  an- 
chored.— We  cruised  about  for  several  hours  in  the  dense"* 
fog.  We  fired  several  guns,  and  listened  if  we  might  hear 
the  halloo  of  any  survivors  ;  but  all  was  silent — we  never 
neard  nor  saw  any  thing  of  them  more  !" 

11.  It  was  a  fine  sunny  morning  when  the  thrilling  cry  of 
"land  !"  was  givx'n  from  the  mast-head.    I  question  whether 

a  An'-ec-dotes,  short  stories.  c  Dense,  close,  thick. 

4  Se-rea'-i-ty,  calmness,  clearness. 


142  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  pART   I. 

Columbus,  when  he  discovered  the  new  world,  felt  a  more 
delicious  throng  of  sensations,  than  rush  into  an  American's 
bosom  when  he  first  comes  in  sight  of  Europe.  There  is  a 
volume  of  associations  in  the  very  name.  It  is  the  land  of 
promise,  teeming  with  every  thing  of  which  his  childhood 
has  heard,  or  on  which  his  studious  ears  have  pondered. 

12.  From  that  time,  until  the  period  of  arrival,  it  was  all 
feverish  excitement.  The  ships  of  war  that  prowled  like 
guardian  giants  ronnd  the  coast;  the  headlands  of  Ireland, 
stretching  out  into  the  channel ;  the  Welsh  mountains,  tow- 
ering into  the  clouds ;  all  were  objects  of  intense  interest. 
As  we  sailed  up  the  Mersey,  I  reconnoitered  the  shores  with 
a  telescope.  My  eye  dwelt  with  delight  on  neat  cottages, 
with  their  trim  shrubberies  and  green  grass  plots.  I  saw  the 
mouldering  ruins  of  an  abbey  overrun  with  ivy,  and  the  taper 
spire  of  a  village  church,  rising  from  the  brow  of  a  neighbor- 
ing hill — all  were  characteristic  of  England.    • 

13.  The  tide  and  wind  Avere  so  favorable,  that  the  ship 
was  enabled  to  come  at  once  at  the  pier.  It  was  thronged 
witii  people  ;  some  idle  lookers-on,  others  eager  expectants 
of  friends  or  relatives.  I  could  distinguish  the  merchant  to 
whom  the  ship  belonged.  I  knew  him  by  his  calculating 
brow,  and  restless  air.  His  hands  were  thrust  into  his  pock- 
ets ;  he  was  whistling  thoughtfully,  and  walking  to  and  fro, 
a  small  space  having  been  accorded  to  him  by  the  crowd,  in 
deference  to  his  temporary  importance.  There  were  repeat- 
ed cheerings  and  salutations  interchanged  between  the  shore 
and  the  ship,  as  friends  happened  to  recognize  each  other. 

14.  But  I  particularly  noted  one  young  woman  of  humble 
dress,  but  interesting  demeanor.*^ — She  was  leaning  forward 
from  amono^  the  crowd  ;  her  eye  hurried  over  the  ship  as  it 
neared  the  shore,  to  catch  some  wished-for  countenance. — 
8he  seemed  disappointed  and  agitated,  when  I  heard  a  faint 
voice  call  her  nauie.  It  w^as  from  a  poor  sailor,  who  had 
been  ill  all  the  voyage,  and  had  excited  the  sympathy  of 
every  one  on  1  \>ard.  When  the  weather  was  fine,  his  mess- 
mates had  sr^ead  a  mattress  for  him  on  deck  in  the  shade; 
but  of  late  'iis  illness  had  so  increased,  that  he  had  taken  to 
his  hamn.oc,^  and  only  breathed  a  wish  that  he  might  see 
his  wife  oefore  he  died. 

15.  He  had  been  helped  on  deck  as  we  came  up  the  river, 
and  was  now  leaning  against  the  shrouds,*^  with  a  counte- 
nancf  so  wasted,  so  pale,  and  so  ghastly,  that  it  is  no  wonder 
even  the  eye  of  affection  did  not  recognize  him.     But  at  the 

a  De-mean '-or,  beliavior,  deportment  c  Shrouds,  ranges  of  ropes. 
b  Ham'-moc,  a  hanging  bed,  used  in 
Bliips. 


Chap.  VIII.  promiscuous  pieces.  143 

sound  of  his  voice  her  eye  darted  on  his  features,  it  read  at 
once  a  whole  volume  of  sorrow;  she  clasped  her  hands, 
uttered  a  faint  shriek,  and  stood  wringing  them  in  silent 
agony. 

16.  All  now  was  hurry  and  bustle — the  meeting  of  ac- 
quaintances— the  greetings  of  friends — the  consultation  of 
men  of  business.  I  alone  was  solitary  and  idle.  I  had  no 
friend  to  meet,  no  cheering  to  receive.  I  stepped  upon  the 
land  of  my  forefathers — but  felt  that  I  was  a  stranger  in  the 
land.  W.  Irving, 

SECTION   II, 

Description  of  a  Thunder  Storm  on  the  Highlands  of  the 
Hudson. 

1.  It  was  the  latter  part  of  a  calm,  sultry  day,  that  we 
floated  gently  with  the  tide,  between  those  stern  mountains, 
the  highlands  of  the  Hudson.  There  was  that  perfect  quiet 
which  prevails  over  nature  in  the  languor*  of  summer  heat; 
the  turning  of  a  plank,  or  the  accidental  falling  of  an  oar  on 
deck,  was  echoed  from  the  mountain  side,  and  reverberated'' 
along  the  shores  ;  and  if  by  chance  the  captain  gave  a  shout 
of  command,  there  were  airy  tongues  that  mocked  it  from 
every  cliff. 

2.  I  gazed  about  me  in  mute  delight  and  wonder,  at  these 
scenes  of  nature's  magnificence.  To  the  left  the  Dunderberg 
reared  its  Avoody  precipices,  height  over  height,  forest  over 
forest,  away  into  the  deep  summer  sky.  To  the  right  strut- 
ted forth  the  bold  promontory*^  of  Antony's  Nose,  with  a 
solitary  eagle  wheeling  about  it;  while  beyond,  mountain 
succeeded  to  mountain,  until  they  seemed  to  lock  their  arms 
together,  and  confine  this  nughty  river  in  their  embraces. — 
There  Avas  a  feeling  of  quiet  luxury  in  gazing  at  the  broad, 
green  bosoms,  here  and  there  scooped  out  among  the  preci- 
pices;  or  at  woodlands  hiijh  in  ^ir,  nodding  over  the  edge  of 
some  beetling  bluff,  and  their  foliage  all  transparent  in  the 
yellow  sunshine. 

3.  In  the  midst  of  my  admiration,  I  remarked  a  pile  of 
bright  snowy  clouds  peering  above  the  western  heights.  It 
was  succeeded  by  another,  and  another,"  each  seemingly 
pushing  on \\'ard  itf;  predecessor, '^  and  towering,  with  dazzling 
brillmncy,  in  the  deep  blue  atmosphere:  and  now,  muttering 
peals  of  thunder  w^ere    faintly  heard,  rolling    behind   the 

a  Lan'-giior,  weakness,  lassitude.  d  Pred'-eces-sor,  one  who  precedes. 

feRc-ver'-be-ra-teiL  re.sounded.  anuther. 

c  Prom'-on-to-ry,  a  headiajid,  a  cape. 


144  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    I. 

mountains.  The  river,  hitherto  still  and  glassy,  reflecting 
pictures  of  the  sky  and  land,  now  shov/ed  a  dark  ripple  at  a 
distance,  as  the  breeze  came  creeping  up  it.  The  fish  hawks 
wheeled  and  screamed,  and  sought  their  nests  on  the  high 
dry  trees;  the  crows  flew  clamorously  to  the  crevices  of  the 
rocks,  and  all  nature  seemed  conscious  of  the  approaching 
tliundergust. 

4.  The  clouds  now  rolled  in  volumes  over  the  mountain 
tops ;  their  summit  still  bright  and  snowy,  but  the  lower  parts 
of  aj^  inky  blackness.  The  rain  began  to  pjitter  down  in 
broad  and  scattered  drops;  the  wind  freshened,' and  curled 
up  the  waves;  at  length  it  seemed  as  if  the  bellying  clouds 
were  torn  open  by  the  mountain  tops,  and  complete  torrents 
of  rain  came  rattling  down.  The  lightning  leaped  from  cloud 
to  cloud,  and  streamed  quivering  against  the  rocks,  splitting 
and  rending  the  stoutest  forest  trees.  The  thunder  burst  in 
tremendous  explosions;  the  peals  were  echoed.from  moun- 
tain to  mountain  ;  they  crashed  upon  DunderSerg,  and  rolled 
up  the  long  delile  of  the  highlands,  each  headland  making  o, 
new  echo,  until  old  Bull  Hill  seemed  to  bellow  back  the 
storm. 

5.  For  a  time  the  scudding  rack  and  mist,  and  Xjie  sheeted 
rain,  almost  hid  the  landscape  from  the  sight.  There  was  a 
fearful  gloom,  illumined  still  more  fearfully  by  the  streams 
of  lis^htning  which  glittered  among  the  rain  drops.  Never 
nad  I  beheld  such  an  absolute  warring  of  the  elements;  it 
seemed  as  if  the  storm  was  tearing  and  rending  its  way 
through  this  mountain  defile,  and  had  brought  ail  the  artillery 
of  heaven  into  action.  Irving. 


SECTION   in. 

The  happy  effects  of  a  virtuous  sensibility. 

1.  The  exercise  of  a  virtuous  sensibility,  powerfully:  in- 
fluences the  proper  discharge  of  all  the  relative 'ancl  ?o^ciar' 
duties  of  life.  Without  some  discharge  of  those  duties,  tfi^ere 
could  be  no  comfort  nor  security  in  human  society.  Men 
would  4:)ecQme  hordes*  of  savages  perpetually  harassing  one 
another.  In  one  "way  or  other,  tlierefore,  the  great  duties  of 
social  life  must  be  performed.  There  must  be  among  man- 
kind some  reciprocal"^  co-operation  and  aid.  In  tiis  all 
consent.  But  let  us  observe,  that  these  duties  may  be  fier- 
formed  from  different  principles,  and  in  different  ways. 

2.  Sometimes  they  are  performed   merely*  frd.m  decenc};' 
a  Hordes,  clans,  tribes.  b  Re-cip'-ro-cal,  mutual^  alternate. 


Chap.  VIII.  promiscuous  pieces.  145 

and  regard  to  character;  sometimes  from  fear,  and  even 
from  selfishness,  which  obliges  men  to  show  kindness,  in 
order  tiiat  they  may  receive  returns  of  it.  la  such  cases, 
the  exterior  of  fair  behavior  may  be  preserved.  But  all  will 
admit,  that  when  from  constraint  only,  the  offices  of  seeming 
kindness  are  performed,  little  dependence  can  be  placed  on 
them,  and  little  value  allowed  to  them. 

3.  By  others,  these  offices  are  discharged  solely  from  a 
principle  of  duty.  They  are  men  of  cold  affections,  and 
perhaps  of  an  interested  character.  But  overawed  by  a 
sense  of  religion,  and  convinced  that  they  are  bound  to  be 
beneficent,  they  fulfil  the  course  of  relative  duties  with  regu- 
lar tenor.  Such  men  act  from  conscience  and  principle.  So 
far  they  do  well  and  are   worthy  of  praise.     They  assist 

heir  friends  ;  they  give  to  the  poor  ;  they  do  justice  to  all. 

4.  But  what  a  different  complexion  is  given  to  the  same 
actions, — how  much  higher  flavor  do  they  acquire, — when 
they  flow  from  the  sensibility  of  a  feeling  heart?  If  one  be 
not  moved  by  affection,  even  supposing  him  influenced  by 
principle,  he  will  go  no  farther  than  strict  principle  appears 
to  require.  He  will  advance  slowly  and  reluctantly.  As  it 
is  ju.-stice,  not  generosity,  which  impels  him,  he  will  often 
feel  as  a  task  what  he  is  required  by  conscience  to  perform. 
Whereas,  to  him  who  is  prompted  by  virtuous  sensibility, 
every  office  of  beneficence  and  humanity  is  a  pleasure. 

5.  He  gives,  assists,  and  relieves,  not  merely  because  he  is 
bound  to  do  so,  but  because  it  would  be  painful  for  him  to 
refrain.  Hence  the  smallest  benefit  he  confers  rises  in  its 
value  on  acount  of  its  carrying  the  affection  of  the  giver 
impressed  upon  the  gift.  It  speaks  his  heart,  and  the  disco- 
very of  the  heart  is  very  frequently  of  greater  consequence 
than  all  that  liberality  can  bestow. 

6.  How  often  will  the  affectionate  smile  of  approbation 
gladden  the  humble,  and  raise  the  dejected  I  How  often  will 
the  look  of  tender  sympathy,*  or  the  tear  that  involuntarily 
falls,  impart  consolation  to  the  unhappy  !  By  means  of  this 
correspondence  of  hearts,  all  the  great  duties  which  we  owe 
to  one  another  are  both  performed  to  more  advantage,  and 
endeared  in  the  performance. 

7.  From  true  sensibility  flow  a  thousand  good  offices,  ap- 
parently small  in  themselves,  but  of  high  importance  to  the 
felicity'^  of  others  ; — offices  which  altogether  escape  the  ob- 
servation of  the  cold  and  unfeeling,  who  by  the  hardness  of 
their  manner  render  themselves  unamiable,  even  wiien  they 

a  Sym'-pa-thy,  compassion,  fellow  feel-     b  Fe-Iic'-i-ty,  bliss,  happiness, 
ing 

10 


146  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  I. 

mean  to  do  good.  How  happy  then  would  it  be  for  man- 
kind, if  this  aifectionate  disposition  prevailed  more  generally 
in  the  worU  !  How  much  would  the  sum  of  public  virtue 
and  public  felicity  be  increased,  if  men  were  always  inclined 
to  rejoice  with  those  that  rejoice,  and  to  weep  with  those 
that  weep.  Blair.- 


SECTION    IV. 

The  importance  of  order  in  the  management  of  business. 

1.  Whatever  may  be  your  business  or  occupation  in 
life,  let  the  administration  of  it  proceed  with  method  and 
economy.  From  time  to  time  examine  your  situation  ;  and 
proportion  your  expense  to  your  growing,  or  diminishing 
revenue,*  Provide  what  is  necessary  before  you  indulge  in 
what  is  superfluous.  Study  to  do  justice  to  all  with  whom 
you  deal,  before  you  affect  the  praise  of  liberality.  In  a 
word,  fix  such  a  plan  of  living  as  you  find  that  your  circum- 
stances will  fairly  admit,  and  adhere  to  it  invariably,  against 
every  temptation  to  improper  excess. 

2.  No  admonition  respecting  morals  is  more  necessary  than 
this,  to  the  age  in  which  we  live — an  age  manifestly  distin- 
guished by  a  propensity  to  thoughtless  profusion ;  wherein 
ail  the  different  ranks  of  men  are  observed  to  press  with  for- 
ward vanity  on  those  who  are  above  them;  to  vie  with  iheir 
superiors  in  every  mode  of  luxury  and  ostentation ;  and  to 
seek  no  farther  argument  for  justifying  extravagance,  than 
the  f\ishion  of  the  times  and  the  supposed  necessity  of  living 
like  others  around  them. 

3.  This  turn  of  mind  begets  contempt  for  sober  and  orderly 
plans  of  life.  It  overthrows  all  regard  to  domestic  concerns 
and  duties.  It  pushes  men  on  to  hazardous  and  visionary'' 
schemes  of  gain,  and  unfortunately  unites  the  two  extremes 
of  grasping  with  rapaciousness*^  and  of  squandering  with 
profusion.  In  the  midst  of  such  disorder  no  prosperity  can 
be  of  long  continuance.  While  confusion  grows  upon  men's 
affairs,  and  prodigality  at  the  same  time  wastes  their  sub- 
stance, poverty  makes  its  advances  like  an  armed  man. 

4.  They  tremble  at  the  view  of  the  approaching  evil,  but 
have  lost  the  force  of  mind  to  make  provision  against  it. 
Accustomed  to  move  in  a  round  of  society  and  pleasures 
disproportioncd  to  their  condition,  they  are  unable  to  break 
through  the  enchantments  of  habit;   and,  with  their  eyes 

a  Rev'-e-nue,  income.  c  Ra-pa'-cious-ness,  dispositicn  to 

b  Vis'-ion-a-ry,iuiaginary,  not  real  plunder. 


Chap.  VIII.  promiscuous  pieces.  147 

open  sink  into  the  gulf  which  is  before  them.  Poverty  en- 
forces dependence;  and  dependence  increases  corruption. 
Necessity  tirsi  betrays  tbem  into  mean  compliances;  next 
impels  them  to  open  crime  ;  and,  beginning  with  ostentation 
and  extraragance,  they  end  in  infamy  and  guilt. 

5.  Sucli  are  the  consequences  of  neglecting  order  m  our 
v.orldly  circumstances.  Such  is  the  circle  in  which  the  pro- 
fuse and  the  dissolute  daily  run.  To  what  cause,  so  much  as 
to  the  want  of  order,  can  we  attribute  those  scenes  of  distress 
which  so  frequently  excite  our  pity — families  that  once  were 
flourishing  reduced  to  ruin,  and  the  melancholy  widow  and 
nesrlected  orphan  thrown  forth  friendless  upon  the  world? 
What  cause  has  been  more  fruitful  in  engendering  those 
atrocious  crimes  which  fill  society  with  disquiet  and  terror, 
in  training  the  gamester  to  fraud,  the  robber  to  violence,  and 
even  the  assassin*  to  blood  ? 

6.  Be  assured,  then,  that  order,  frugality,  and  economy  are 
the  necessary  supports  of  every  personal  and  private  virtue. 
How  humble  soever  these  qualities  may  appear  to  some,  they 
are  nevertheless  the  basis^  on  which  liberty,  independence, 
and  true  honor  must  rise.  -He  who  has  the  steadiness  to  ar- 
range his  affairs  with  method  and  regularity,  and  to  conduct 
his  train  of  life  agreeably  to  his  circumstancers,  can  be  master 
of  himself  in  every  situation  into  which  he  may  be  thrown. 

7.  He  is  under  no  necessity  to  flatter  or  to  lie,  to  stoop  to 
what  is  mean,  or  to  commit  what  is  criminal.  But  he  who 
wants  that  firmness  of  mind  which  the  observance  of  order 
requires,  is  held  in  bondage  to  the  world  ;  he  can  neither  act 
his  part  with  courage  as  a  man,  nor  with  fidelity  as  a  Chris- 
tian. From  the  moment  you  have  allowed  yourselves  to  pass 
the  line  of  economy,  and  live  beyond  your  fortune,  you  have 
entered  on  the  path  of  danger.  Precipices  surround  you  on 
all  sides.  Every  step  which  you  take  may  lead  to  mischiefs 
that  as  yet  lie  hidden,  and  to  crimes  that  will  end  in  ever- 
lasting perdition.  Blair. 

SECTION   V. 

The  Funeral  of  Maria, 

1.  Maria  was  in  her  twentieth  year.  To  the  beauty  of  hei 
form,  and  excellence  of  her  natural  disposition,  a  parent, 
equally  indulgent  and  attentive,  had  done  the  fullest  justice. 
To  accomplish  her  person,  and  to  cultivate  her  mind,  every 
endeavor  had  been  used,  and  had  been  attended  with  that 

a  As-sas'-sin,one  who  kills  oy  secret  as-   b  Ca'-sis.  foundation,  support 
■aulc 


MS  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  pART   1. 

success  which  parental  efforts  commonly  meet  with,  when 
not  prevented  by  mistaken  fondness  or  untimely  vanity. 

2.  Few  young- ladies  have  attracted  more  admiration  ;  none 
ever  felt  it  less  :  with  all  the  charms  of  beauty,  and  the  polish 
of  education,  the  plainest  were  not  less  affected,  nor  the  most 
ignorant  less  assuming.  She  died  when  every  tongue  was 
eloquent  of  her  virtues,  when  every  nope  was  ripening  to  re- 
ward them. 

3.  It  is  by  such  private  and  domestic  distresses,  that  the 
softer  emotions  of  the  heart  are  more  strongly  excited.  The 
fall  of  more  important  personages  is  commonly  distant  from 
our  observation;  but  even  where  it  happens  under  our  im- 
mediate notice,  there  is  a  mixture  of  other  feelings,  by  which 
our  compassion  is  weakened. 

4.  The  eminently  great,  or  extensively  useful,  leave  behind 
them  a  train  of  interrupted  view^s,  and  disappointed  expecta- 
tions, by  which  the  distress  is  complicated*  beyond  the  sim- 
plicity of  piety.  But  the  death  of  one,  who  like'Maria  Avas  to 
shed  the  influence  of  her  virtues  over  the  age  of  a  father,  and 
the  childhood  of  her  sisters,  presents  to  us  a  little  view  of  fa- 
mily affliction,  which  every  eye  can  perceive,  and  every  heart 
can  feel. 

5.  On  scenes  of  public  sorrow  and  national  regret,  we  gaze 
as  upon  those  gallery  pictures,  Avhich  strike  us  with  wonder 
and  admiration:  domestic  calamity  is  like  the  miniature^  of 
a  friend,  which  we  wear  in  our  bosoms,  and  keep  for  secret 
looks  and  solitary  enjoyment. 

6.  The  last  time  I  saw  Maria,  was  m  tne  midst  of  a  crowd- 
ed assembly  of  the  fashionable  and  the  gay,  where  she  fixed 
all  eyes  by  the  gracefulness  of  her  motions,  and  the  native 
(Jignity  of  her  mien ;  yet,  so  tempered  was  that  superiority 
which  they  conferred  with  gentleness  and  modesty,  that  not 
a  murmur  was  heard,  either  from  the  rivalship  of  beauty,  or 
the  envy  of  homeliness.  From  that  scene  the  transition*^  was 
so  violent  to  the  hearse  and  the  palh  the  grave  and  the  sod, 
that  once  or  twice  my  imagination  turned  rebel  to  my  senses; 
I  beheld  the  objects  around  me  as  the  painting  of  a  dream, 
and  thought  of  Maria  as  still  living. 

7.  I  was  soon,  however,  recalled  to  the  sad  reality.  The 
figure  of  her  father  bending  over  the  grave  of  his  darling 
child ;  the  silent,  suffering  composure,  in  which  his  counte- 
nance was  fixed  ;  the  tears  of  his  attendants,  whose  grief  was 
light  and  capable  of  tears  ;  these  gave  me  back  the  truth,  and 
reminded  me  that  I  should  see  her  no  more.     There  Avas  a 


a  Com'-pli-ca-ted,  intricate,  perplexed,     c  Trans-i"-tion,  a  passing  from  one 
*  Min'-i-a-ture,  a  small  likeness.  state  to  another. 


Chap.  VIII.  promiscdous  pieces.  149 

flow  of  sorrow,  with  which  I  suffered  myself  to  be  borne 
along  with  a  melancholy  kind  of  indulgence  ;  but  when  her 
father  dropped  the  cord  with  which  he  had  helped  to  lay 
his  Maria  in  the  earth,  its  sound  on  the  coffin  chilled  my 
heart,  and  horror  for  a  moment  took  place  of  pity  ! 

8.  It  was  but  for  a  moment. — He  looked  eagerly  into  the 
grave  j  made  one  involuntary  motion  to  stop  the  assistants, 
who  were  throwing  the  earth  into  it;  then,  suddenly  recol- 
lecting himself,  clasped  his  hands  together,  threw  up  his  eyes 
to  heaven,  and  then,  first,  I  saw  a  few  tears  drop  from  them. 
I  gave  language  to  all  this.  It  spoke  a  lesson  of  faith,  and 
piety,  and  resignation.  I  went  away  sorrowful,  but  my  sor- 
row was  neither  ungentle  nor  unmanly  ;  I  cast  on  this  world 
a  glance  rather  of  pity  than  of  enmity;  and  on  the  next,  a 
look  of  humbleness  and  hope  ! 

9.  Such,  I  am  persuaded,  will  commonly  be  the  effect  of 
scenes  like  that  1  have  described,  on  minds  neither  frigid  nor 
untiiinking:  for,  of  feelings  like  these,  the  gloom  of  the  as- 
cetic* is  as  little  susceptible  as  the  levity  of  the  giddy.  There 
needs  a  certain  pliancy  of  mind  which  society  alone  can 
give,  though  its  vices  often  destroy  it, — to  ren(3er  us  capable 
of  that  gentle  melancholy,  which  makes  sorrow  pleasant, 
and  afliiclion  useful. 

10.  It  is  not  from  a  melancholy  of  this  sort,  that  men  are 
prompted  from  the  cold,  unfruitful  virtues  of  monkish  solitude. 
These  are  often  the  effects,  rather  of  passion  secluded  than 
repressed,  rather  of  temptation  avoided  than  overcome.  The 
crucifix"  and  the  rosary, '^  the  death's  head  and  the  bones,  if 
custom  has  not  made  them  indifferent,  will  rather  chill  desire 
than  exciie  virtue ;  but,  amidst  the  warmth  of  social  atTecticn, 
and  of  social  sympathy,  the  heart  will  feel  the  weakness,  and 
enjoy  the  duties  of  humanity. 

11.  Perhaps  it  will  be  said,  that  such  situations  and  such 
reflections  as  the  foregoing,  will  only  affect  minds  already  too 
tender,  and  be  disregarded  by  those  who  need  the  lessons  they 
impart.  But  this,  I  apprehend,  is  to  allow  too  much  to  the 
force  of  habit,  and  the  resistance  of  prejudice. 

12.  I  will  not  pretend  to  assert,  that  rooted  principles  and 
long-established  conduct  are  suddenly  to  be  changed  by  the 
effects  of  situation,  or  the  eloquence  of  sentiment;  but,  if  it 
be  granted  that  such  change  ever  took  place,  who  shall  deter 
mine  by  what  imperceptible  motive  or  accidental  impression, 
it  was  first  begun?  And,  even  if  the  influence  of  such  a  call 
to  thought  can  only  smother  in  its  birth,  one  aUurement  to 

a  As-cet'-ic,  a  retired  and  devout  person,  c  Ro'-sa-ry,  a  string  of  beads  on  which 
b  Cru'-ci-fix,  a  Utile  cross  with  tlie  body      prayer*  are  numbered, 
of  Christ. 


150  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   L 

evil,  or  confirm  one  wavering  purpose  to  virtue,  I  sliall  not 
have  unjustly  commended  that  occasional  indulgence  of  pen- 
siveness*  and  sorrow,  which  will  thus  be  rendered,  not  only 
one  oi'  the  refinements,  but  one  of  the  improvements  of  life. 

Alackenzie, 

SECTION    VI. 

TTie  Vision  of  Mir z a. 

1.  On  tlie  fifth  day  of  the  moon,  which  according  to  tne 
custom  of  my  forefathers  I  always  kept  holy,  after  having 
washed  myself,  and  offered  up  my  morning  devotions,  I  as- 
cended the  high  hills  of  Bagdat,  in  order  to  pass  the  rest  of 

■  the  day  in  meditation  and  prayer.  As  I  was  here  airing  my- 
self on  the  tops  of  the  mountains,  I  fell  into  a  profound  con- 
templation on  the  vanity  of  human  lite  ;  and,  passing  from 
one  thought  to  another,  "Surely,"  said  I,  "man  is  but  a  sha- 
dow, and  life  a  dream." 

2.  While  I  was  thus  musing,  I  cast  my  eyes  toward  the 
summit  of  arock  that  was  not  far  from  me,  whore  I  disco- 
vered one,  in  the  habit  of  a  shepherd,  with  a  musical  instru- 
ment in  his  hand.  As  I  looked  upon  him  he  applied  it  to  \\\\ 
lips,  and  began  to  play  upon  it.  The  sound  of  it  was  exceed- 
ingly sweet,  and  wrought  into  a  variety  of  runes  that  were 
inexpressibly  melodious,  and  altogether  different  from  any 
thing  I  had  ever  heard.  They  put  me  in  mind  of  those  hea- 
venly airs  that  are  played  to  the  departed  souls  of  good  men 
upon  their  first  arrival  in  paradise,  to  wear  out  the  impres- 
sions of  their  last  agonies,  and  qualify  them  for  the  pleasures 
of  that  happy  place. 

3.  My  heart  melted  away  in  secret  raptures.  I  had  been 
often  told  that  the  rock  before  me  was  the  hauntof  a  Genius, 
and  that  several  had  been  entertained  with  music  who  had 
:^assed  by  it,  but  never  heard  that  the  musician  had  bel^'ore 
made  hmiself  visible.  When  he  had  raised  my  thoughts,  by 
those  transporting  airs  which  he  played,  to  taste  the  pleasure 
of  his  conversation,  as  I  looked  upon  him  like  one  astonish- 
ed, he  beckoned  to  me,  and,  by  the  waving  of  his  hand,  di- 
rected me  to  approach  the  place  where  he  sat. 

4.  I  drew  near,  with  that  reverence  which  is  due  to  a  su- 
perior nature  ;  and,  as  my  heart  was  entirely  subdued  by  the 
captivating  strains  I  had  heard,  I  fell  down  at  his  feet  and 
wept.  The  Genius  smiled  upon  me  with  a  look  of  compas- 
sion and  affability,''  that  familiarized  him  to  my  imagination, 

a  Pen'-Bive-ness,   thoushtfulness,  sad-     b  Af-fa-bU'-i-ty,  cirility,  readiness  to 
uess.  converse. 


Chap.  VIII.  promiscuous  pieces.  151 

and  at  once  dispelled  all  the  fears  and  apprehensions  with 
which  I  approached  him.  He  lifted  me  irom  tlie  ground, 
and,  taking  me  by  the  hand,  "  Mirza,"  said  he,  "I  have  heard 
thee  in  thy  soliloquies  :"  follow  me." 

5.  He  led  me  to  the  highest  pinnacle  of  the  rock,  and 
placing  me  on  the  top  of  it,  "Cast  thy  eyes  eastward,"  said 
he,  "and  tell  me  what  thou  seest."  "1  see,"  said  I,  "a  huge 
valley,  and  a  prodigious  tide  of  water  rolling  through  it." 
"  The  valley  that  thou  seest,"  said  he,  "  is  the  valley  of  mise- 
ry ;  and  the  tide  of  water  that  thou  seest,  is  part  of  the  great 
tide  of  eternity."  "  What  is  the  reason,"  said  I,  "  that  the 
tide  I  see  rises  out  of  a  thick  mist  at  one  end,  and  again  loses 
itself  in  a  thick  mist  at  the  other?" 

6.  "  What  thou  seest,"  said  he,  "  is  that  portion  of  eterni- 
ty which  is  called  time,  measured  out  by  the  sun,  and  reach- 
iiig  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  to  its  consumiiaation. 
Examine,  now,"  said  he,  "  this  sea,  that  is  thus  bounded  with 
darkness  at  both  ends,  and  tell  me  what  thou  discoverest  in 
it."  "  I  see  a  bridge,"  said  I,  "standing  in  the  midst  of  the 
tide."  "The  bridge  thou  seest,"  said  he,  "is  human  life: 
consider  it  attentively."  Upon  a  more  leisurely  survey  of  it, 
I  found  that  it  consisted  of  three-score  and  ten  entire  arches, 
with  several  broken  arches,  which,  added  to  those  that  were 
entire,  made  up  the  number  of  about  a  hundred. 

7.  x\s  I  was  counting  the  arches  the  Genius  told  me  that 
this  bridge  consisted,  at  first,  of  a  thousand  arches;  but  that 
a  great  flood  swept  away  the  rest,  and  left  the  bridge  in  the 
ruhious  condition  I  now  beheld  it,  "But  tell  me  farther," 
said  he,  "what  thou  discoverest  on  it."  "I  see  multitudes 
of  people  passing  over  it,"  said  I,  "  and  a  black  cloud  hang- 
ing on  each  end  of  it." 

8.  As  I  looked  more  attentively,  I  saw  several  of  the  pas- 
sengers dropping  through  the  bridge  into  the  great  tide  that 
flowed  underneath  it;  and,  upon  farther  examination,  per- 
ceived there  were  innumerable  trap-doors  that  lay  concealed 
in  the  bridge,  which  the  passengers  no  sooner  trod  upon,  but 
they  fell  through  them  into  the  tide,  and  immediately  disap- 
peared. These  hidden  pit-falls  were  set  very  thick  at  the 
entrance  of  the  bridge,  so  that  the  throngs  of  people  no  sooner 
broke  through  the  cloud,  than  many  of  them  fell  into  them. 
They  grew  thinner  toward  the  middle,  but  multiplied  and 
lay  closer  together  toward  the  end  of  the  arches  that  were 
entire. 

9.  There  were  indeed  some  persons — but  their  number  was 
very  small — that  continued  a  kind  of  hobbling  march  on  the 

a  So-Iir-o-quy,  talking  to  one's  self. 


152  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   I. 

broken  arches,  but  fell  through,  one  after  another,  being  quite 
tired  and  spent  with  so  long  aAvalk.  I  passed  some  time  in 
the  contemplation  of  this  wonderful  structure,  and  the  great 
variety  of  objects  which  it  presented, 

10.  My  heart  was  filled  with  a  deep  melancholy  to  see  se- 
veral dropping  unexpectedly,  in  the  midst  of  mirth  and  jolli- 
ty, and  catching  by  every  thing  that  stood  by  them  to  save 
themselves.  Some  were  looking  up  toward  the  heavens  in 
a  thoughtful  posture,  and,  in  the  midst  of  a  speculation, 
stumbled  and  fell  out  of  sight.  Multitudes  were  very  busy  in 
the  pursuit  of  bubbles,  that  glittered  in  their  eyes  and  danced 
before  them  ;  but  often,  when  they  thought  themselves  with- 
in the  reach  of  them,  their  footing  failed,  and  down  they  sunk. 

11.  In  this  confusion  of  objects,  I  observed  some  with  ci- 
meters*  in  their  hands,  and  others  with  lances,  who  ran  to 
and  fro  upon  the  bridge,  thrusting  several  persons  on  trap- 
doors, which  did  not  seem  to  lie  in  their  way,  and  which 
they  might  nave  escaped  had  they  not  been  thus  forced  upon 
them. 

12.  The  Genius,  seeing  me  indulge  myself  in  this  melan- 
choly prospect,  told  me  I  had  dwelt  long  enough  upon  it. 
— "  Take  thine  eyes  off  the  bridge,"  said  he,  "and  tell  me  if 
thou  yet  seest  any  thing  thou  dost  not  comprehend."  Upon 
looking  up,  "What  mean,"  said  I,  "those  great  flights  of 
birds  that  are  perpetually  hovering  about  the  bridge,  and  set- 
tling upon  it  from  time  to  time!  1  see  vultures,  harpies,  ra- 
vens, cormorants,  and  among  many  other  feathered  creatures, 
several  little  winged  boys,  that  perch  in  great  numbers  upon 
the  middle  arches." 

13.  "  These,"  said  the  Genius,  "are  Envy,  Avarice,  Super- 
stition, Despair,  Love,  with  the  like  cares  and  passions  that 
infest  human  life."  I  here  fetched  a  deep  si^h.  "Alas  !" 
said  I,  "  man  was  made  in  vain !  how  is  he  given  away  to 
misery  and  mortality !  tortured  in  life,  and  swallowed  up  in 
death !"  The  Genius  being  moved  with  compassion  toward 
me,  bid  me  quit  so  uncomfortable  a  prospect.  "  Look  no 
more,"  said  he,  "  on  man,  in  the  first  stage  of  his  existence, 
in  his  settins:  out  for  eternity  ;  but  cast  thine  eye  on  that  thick 
mist,  into  which  the  tide  bears  the  several  generations  of 
mortals  that  fall  into  it." 

14.  I  directed  my  sight  as  I  was  ordered,  and — whether  or 
no  the  good  Genius  strengthened  it  with  any  supernatural 
force,  or  dissipated  part  of  the  mist  that  was  before  too  thick 
for  the  eye  to  penetrate — I  saw  the  valley  opening  at  the  far- 
ther end,  and  spreading  forth  into  an  immense  ocean,  that 

a  Cim'-e-ter,  a  short  sword. 


Chap.  VIII.  promiscuous  pieces.  153 

had  a  huge  rock  of  adamant  running  through  the  midst  of  it, 
and  dividing  it  into  two  equal  parts.  The  clouds  still  rested 
on  one  half  it,  insomuch  that  I  could  discover  nothing  in  it; 
but  the  other  appeared  to  me  a  vast  ocean,  planted  with  in- 
numerable islands  that  virere  covered  with  fruits  and  flowers, 
and  interwoven  with  a  thousand  little  shining  seas  that  ran 
among  them. 

15.  I  could  see  persons  dressed  in  glorious  habits,  with 
garlands'^  upon  their  heads,  passing  among  the  trees,  lying 
down  by  the  sides  of  fountains,  or  resting  on  beds  of  flowers  ; 
and  could  hear  a  confused  harmony  of  singing  birds,  falling 
waters,  human  voices,  and  musical  instruments.  Gladness 
grew  in  me  upon  the  discovery  of  so  delightful  a  scene.  I 
wished  for  the  wings  of  an  eagle,  that  I  might  fly  away  to 
those  happy  seats;  but  the  Genius  told  me  there  was  no 
passage  to  them,  except  through  the  gates  of  death  that  I  saw 
opening  every  moment  upon  the  bridge. 

18.  '^  The  islands,"  said  he,  "  that  lie  so  fresh  and  green 
before  thee,  and  with  which  the  whole  face  of  the  ocean  ap- 
pears spotted,  as  far  as  thou  canst  see,  are  more  in  number 
than  the  sands  on  the  sea  shore.  There  are  myriads  of  inl- 
ands behind  those  which  thou  here  discoverest,  reaching  far- 
ther than  thine  eye,  or  even  thine  imagination  can  extend 
itself.  These  are  the  mansions  of  good  men  after  death,  who, 
according  to  the  degrees  and  kinds  of  virtue  in  which  they 
excelled,  are  distributed  among  these  several  islands,  which 
abound  with  pleasures  of  dilTerent  kinds  and  degrees,  suitable 
to  the  relishes  and  perfections  of  those  who  are  settled  in 
them.  Every  island  is  a  paradise,  accommodated  to  its  re- 
spective inhabitants. 

17.  ''  Are  not  these,  O  Mirza,  habitations  worth  contending 
for?  Does  life  appear  miserable,  that  gives  the  opportuni- 
ties of  earning  such  a  reward?  Is  death  to  be  feared,  that 
will  convey  thee  to  so  happy  an  existence?  Think  not  man 
was  made  in  vain,  who  has  such  an  eternity  reserved  for 
him."  I  gazed  with  inexpressible  pleasure  on  those  happy 
islands. — At  length,  said  I,  "  Show  me  now,  I  beseech  thee, 
the  secrets  that  lie  under  those  dark  clouds  that  cover  the 
ocean  on  the  other  side  of  the  rock  of  adamant." 

IS.  The  Genius  making  me  no  answer,  1  turned  about  to 
address  myself  to  him  a  second  time,  but  I  found  that  he  had 
left  me.  I  then  turned  again  to  the  vision  which  I  had  been 
so  long  contemplating;  but,  instead  of  the  rolling  tide,  the 
a  ched  bridge,  and  the  happy  islands,  I  saw  nothing  but  tke 


a  Garliuids,  wreaths  of  flowers. 


15^i  NEW   ENGLTSri    READER.  pART  I. 

long,  hollow  valley  of  Bagdat,  with  oxen,  sheep  and  camels 
grazing  upon  the  sides  of  it.  Addison, 


SECTION  vn. 
The  Eternity  of  God. 

1.  If  all  who  live  and  hreathe  around  us  are  the  creatures 
of  yesterday,  and  destined  to  see  destruction  to-morrow;  it 
the  same  condition  is  our  own,  and  the  same  sentence  is  writ- 
ten against  us  ;  if  the  solid  forms  of  inanimate  nature  and 
laborious  art,  are  lading  and  falling;  if  we  look  in  vain  for 
durability  to  the  very  roots  of  the  mountains,  where  shall  we 
turn,  and  on  what  can  we  rely  ?  Can  no  support  be  offered  ; 
can  no  source  of  confidence  be  named?  Oh  yes  I  there  is 
one  Being  to  whom  we  can  look,  with  a  perfect  conviction 
of  finding  that  security,  which  nothing  about  us  can  give, 
and  which  nothing  about  us  can  take  away. 

2.  To  this  Being  we  can  lift  up  our  souls,  and  on  him  we 
may  rest  them,  exclaiming  in  the  language  of  the  monarch 
o(  Israel,  **  Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or  even 
thnu  hadst  formed  the  earth  and  the  world,  even  from  ever- 
lasting to  everlasting  thou  art  God."  "  Of  old  hast  thou  laid 
the  foundations  of  the  earth,  and  the  heavens  are  the  work 
of  thy  hands.  They  shall  perish,  but  thou shalt  endure ;  yea, 
all  of  them  shall  wax  old  like  a  garment,  as  a  vesture  shalt 
thou  change  them,  and  they  shall  be  changed;  but  thou  art 
the  same,  and  thy  years  «hall  have  no  end." 

3.  The  eternity  of  God  is  a  subject  of  contemplation,  wliich, 
at  the  same  time  that  it  overwhelms  us  with  astonishment 
and  awe,  affords  us  an  immoveable  ground  of  confidence  in 
the  midst  of  a  changing  world.  All  things  which  surround 
us,  all  these  dying,  mouldering  inhabitants  of  time,  must 
have  had  a  Creator,  for  the  plain  reason  that  they  could  not 
have  created  themselves.  And  their  Creator  must  have 
existed  from  all  eternity,  for  the  plain  reason  that  the  first 
cause  must  necessarily  he  uncaused. 

4.  As  we  cannot  suppose  a  beginnmg  without  a  cause  of 
existence,  that  which  is  the  cause  of  all  existence  must  be 
self-existent,  and  could  have  had  no  beginning.  And,  as  it 
had  no  beginning,  so  also,  as  it  is  beyond  the  reach  of  all  in- 
fluence and  control,  as  it  is  independent  and  almighty,  it  will 
have  no  end.  Here  then  is  a  support  which  will  never  fail; 
here  is  a  foundation  which  can  never  be  moved — the  ever- 
lasting Creator  of  countless  worlds,  "  the  high  and  lofty  One 
that  inhabits  eternity." 


Chap.  VIII.  promiscuous  pieces.  155 

5.  What  a  sublime  conception  !  He  inhabits  eternity,  oc- 
cupies this  inconceivable  duration,  pervades*  and  fills  through- 
out this  boundless  dwelling.  Ages  on  ages,  before  even  the 
dust  of  which  we  are  formed  was  created,  he  had  existed  in 
infinite  majesty ;  and  ages  on  ages  will  roll  away,  after  we 
have  returned  to  the  du?t  whence  we  were  taken,  and  still  he 
will  exist  in  infinite  majesty,  living  in  the  eternity  of  his  own 
nature,  reigning  in  the  plenitude'' of  his  own  omnipotence, 
for  ever  sending  forth  the  word  Avhich  form«,  supports,  and 
governs  all  things,  commanding  new  created  lights  to  shine 
on  new  created  worlds,  and  raising  up  new  created  genera- 
tions to  inhabit  them. 

G.  The  contemplation  of  this  glorious  attribute  of  God,  is 
fitted  to  excite  in  our  minds  the  most  animating  and  consol- 
ing refiections.  Standing  as  we  are  amid  the  ruins  of  time, 
and  tiie  wrecks  of  mortality,  where  every  thing  about  us  is 
created  and  dependent,  proceeding  from  nothinsr,  and  hasten- 
ing to  destruction,  we  rejoice  that  something  is  presented  to 
our  view  which  has  stood  from  everlasting,  and  will  remain 
for  ever. 

7.  When  we  have  looked  on  the  pleasures  of  life,  and 
they  have  vanished  away  ;  when  we  have  looked  on  the 
works  of  nature,  and  perceived  that  they  were  changing; 
on  the  monuments  of  art,  and  seen  that  they  would  not 
stand;  on  our  friends,  and  they  have  fled  while  we  were  ga- 
zing; on  ourselves,  and  felt  that  we  were  as  fieeting'^  as  they  ; 
when  we  have  looked  on  every  object  to  which  we  could 
turn  our  anxious  eyes,  and  they  have  all  told  us  that  they 
could  give  us  no  hope  nor  support,  because  they  were  so 
feeble  themselves;  we  can  look  to  the  throne  of  God: 
change  and  decay  have  never  reached  that;  the  revolution 
of  ages  has  never  moved  it;  the  waves  of  an  eternity  have 
been  ru-^hing  past  it,  but  it  Jaas  remained  unshaken;  the 
waves  of  another  eternity  are  rushing  toward  it,  but  it  is 
fixed  and  never  can  be  disturbed.  Greenwood. 


SECTION   VIIT. 

Tlic  Sea  and  its  Inhahilants. 

1.  The  sea  carries  indubitable^^  evidences  of  a  most  wise 
and  gracious  ordination.  How  grand,  surprisingly  grand 
and  majestic,  are  the  works  as  well  as  the  attributes,  of  an 
omnipotent  Being !     What  are  the  canals  in  all  the  couu- 

a  Por-vades',  passes  throusrh.  c  Fleet'-inc,  transient,  flvme  awav, 

b  Plcn'-i-iude,  fuUnesp,  coiiipletences.  d  In-du'-bil-a-ble,  aduiittuig  of  iro'doubt. 


156  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  I. 

tries  of  the  earth  compared  with  this  reservatory  !-r-What 
are  all  the  superb  edifices,  erected  by  royal  magnificence, 
compared  with  yonder  concave  of  the  skies'!  And  what  are 
the  most  pompous  illuminations  of  theaters  and  triumphant 
cities,  compared  with  the  resplendent^^  source  of  day  ! 

2.  Let  us  examine  a  single  drop  of  water — the  very  least 
quantity  the  eye  can  discover.  In  this  almost  imperceptible 
speck,  a  famous  philosopher  computes  no  less  than  thirteen 
thousand  globules.  Amazing  to  conceive !  Impossible  to 
explicate  !^  If.  then,  in  so  small  a  speck  abundantly  more 
than  ten  thousand  globules  exist,  what  myriads  of  myriads 
must  float  in  the  unmeasured  extent  of  the  ocean  ! 

3.  Let  the  ablest  arithmetician  try  to  comprehend  in  his 
mind,  not  the  internal  constitution,  but  only  the  number  of 
these  fluid  particles.  As  well  may  he  grasp  the  winds  in  his 
fist,  or  mete  out  the  universe  with  his  span,  as  execute  the 
task.  Great  then,  inconceivably  great,  is  that  adored  and 
glorious  Sovereign,  who  sitteth  upon  this  flood  as  upon  a 
throne;  nay,  who  holds  it,  difi'used  as  it  is  from  pole  to  pole, 
in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  and  before  whom,  in  all  its  prodi- 
gious dimensions,  it  is  but  as  the  drop  of  a  bucket. 

4.  Nor  are  the  regions  of  the  ocean  without  their  proper 
and  peculiar  inhabitants,  who  are  clothed  and  accoutered'=  in 
exact  conformity  to  the  clime — not  in  swelling  wool,  or 
buoyant^  feathers  ;  not  in  a  flowing  robe,  or  a  well  trimmed 
suit — but  with  as  much  compactness,  and  with  as  little  super- 
fluity as  possible.  They  are  clad,  or  rather  sheathed  with 
scales,  which  adhere  closely  to  their  bodies,  and  are  always 
laid  in  a  kind  of  natural  oil — than  which  apparel,  nothing 
can  be  more  light,  and  at  the  same  time  nothing  more  solid. 

5.  ft  hinders  the  fluid  from  penetrating- their  flesh  ;  it  pre- 
vents the  cold  from  coagulating  their  blood ;  and  enables 
them  to  make  their  way  through  the  waters  with  the  utmost 
facility.  They  have  each  an  air  bladder,  a  curious  instru- 
ment, by  which  they  increase  or  diminish  their  specific  gra- 
vity ;•  sink  like  lead,  or  float  like  a  cork;  rise  to  what  neight, 
or  descend  to  what  depth  they  please. 

6.  It  is  impossible  to  enter  on  the  musterroll  of  those  scaly 
herds,  and  that  minuter  fry,  which  graze  the  sea  weed,  or 
stray  through  the  coral  groves.  They  are  innumerable  as 
the  sands  which  lie  under  them;  countless  as  the  waves 
which  cover  ihem.  Here  are  uncouth  animals  of  monstrous 
shapes,  and  amazing  qualities.     Some  that  have  been  disco- 


a  Rc-splen'  dent,  bright,  very  splen-    c  Ac-cout'-er-ed,  dressed  in  arms. 

did.  d  Buoy '-ant,  that  will  not  sink. 

t  Ex''pli-cate,  to  unfold,  explain.  «  Grav'-i-ty,  weight. 


Chap.  VIII.  promiscuous  pieces.  157 

vered  by  the  inquisitive  eye  of  man,  and  many  more  that 
remain  among  the  secrets  of  the  hoary  deep. 

7.  Here  are  shoals  and  shoals  of  various  characters,  and  of 
the  most  diversified  sizes,  from  the  cumbrous  whale  whose 
flouncing  tismpests  the  ocean,  to  the  cYanssccnt*^  anchovy, 
w^hose  substance  dissolves  in  the  smallest  fricassee.^  Some, 
lodged  in  their  pearly  shells,  and  fattening  on  their  rocky 
beds,  seem  attentive  to  no  higher  employ  than  that  of  imbi- 
bing moist  nutriment.  These,  but  a  small  remove  from 
vegetable  life,  are  almost  rooted  on  the  rock  on  which  they 
lie  reposed;  while  others,  active  as  the  winged  creation,  and 
swift  as  an  arrow  from  the  Indian  bow,  shoot  along  the 
yielding  flood,  and  range  at  large  the  spacious  regions  of  the 
deep. 

8.  In  this  region  is  the  tortoise,  who  never  moves  but  un- 
der her  own  penthouse — the  lobster,  which,  whether  he 
sleeps  or  wakes,  is  still  in  a  state  of  defense,  and  clad  in  joint- 
ed aimour — the  oyster,  a  sort  of  living  jelly,  ingarrisoned  in 
a  bulwark  of  native  stone, — with  many  other  kinds  of  sea 
reptiles,  or,  as  the  Psalmist  speaks — "  Things  creeping  innu- 
merable." How  surprising  are  the  varieties  of  their  figure, 
and  charming  the  splendor  of  their  colors. 

9.  Unsearchable  is  the  wisdom,  and  endless  the  contrivance, 
of  the  all-creating  God  !  Some  are  rugged  in  their  form,  and 
little  better  than  hideous  in  their  aspect ;  their  shells  seem  to 
be  the  rude  production  of  a  disorderly  jumble,  rather  than  the 
regular  effects  of  skill  and  design  ;  yet  we  shall  find  even  in 
these  seeming  irregularities,  the  nicest  dispositions.  Their 
abodes,  uncouth  as  they  may  appear,  are  adapted  to  the 
genius  of  their  respective  tenants,  and  exactly  suited  to  their 
particular  exigences.  Neither  the  Ionic  delicacy,  nor  the 
Corinthian  richness,  nor  any  other  order  of  architecture, 
would  have  served  their  purpose  half  so  well  as  their  coarse 
and  homely  fabric. 

10.  Some,  on  the  other  hand,  are  extremely  neat.  Their 
structure  is  all  symmetry*'  and  elegance.  No  enamel'^  in  the 
world  is  comparable  to  their  polish.  There  is  not  a  room  of 
state  in  all  the  palaces  of  Europe,  so  brilliantly  adorned,  as 
the  dining-room  and  bed-chamber  of  the  little  fish  that  dwells 
in  the  mother  of  pearl.  Such  a  lovely  mixture  of  red,  and 
blue,  and  green,  so  delightfully  staining  the  most  clear  and 
glittering  ground,  is  nowhere  else  to  be  seen.  The  royal 
power  may  covet  it,  and  human   art  may  mimic  it ;   but 


a  Ev-a-nes'-cent,  vanishing,  fleeting.        c  Sym'-me-try,  proportion  of  parts  to 
b  Fric-aa-see',  a  fried  disl^,  each  other. 

d  En-atn'-el,  a  substance  liko  glass. 


158  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    L 

neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  nor  both  united,  will  ever  be 
able  to  equal  it. 

11.  But  what  we  admire  more  than  all  their  streaks,  their 
spots,  and  their  embroidery,*  is  the  extraordinary  provision 
made  for  their  safety.  Nothing  is  more  relishing  and  palata- 
ble than  their  flesh.  Nothing  more  heavy  and  sluggish  than 
their  motions.  As  they  have  no  speed  to  escape,  neither 
have  they  any  dexterity^  to  elude  the  foe.  Were  they  naked 
or  unguarded,  they  must  be  an  easy  prey  to  every  freebooter 
that  roams  the  ocean. 

12.  To  prevent  this  fatal  consequence,  what  is  only  oloth- 
ing  to  other  animals,  is  to  them  a  clothing,  a  house,  and  a 
castle.  They  have  a  fortification  that  grows  with  their 
growth,  and  is  part  of  themselves.  By  tliis  means  they  live 
secure  amidst  millions  and  millions  of  ravenous  jaws  ;  by 
this  means  they  are  impraked  as  it  were  in  their  own  shell ; 
and,  screened  from  every  other  assault,  are  reserved  for  the 
use  and  pleasure  of  mankind. 

13.  How  admirable  is  the  ordination  of  that  great  Being 
who  thus  causeth  all  to  minister  together  for  good,  and  who 
while  he  protects  the  most  defenceless,  provides  for  the  plea- 
sures of  the  most  distinguished  of  his  creatures.      "Thy 

'  tender  mercies  are  over  all  thy  works,  O  Lord !  and  thou 
neglectest  nought  thou  hast  made.'*  Enfield. 


SECTION    IX. 

Bescri/ption  of  Jerusalem  and  the  siirroimding  country, 

1.  Although  the  size  of  Jerusalem  was  not  extensive,  its 
very  situation,  on  the  brink  of  rugged  hills,  encircled  by 
deep  and  wild  valleys,  bounded  by  eminences  whose  sides 
were  covered  with  groves  and  gardens,  added  to  its  numerous 
towers  and  temples,  must  have  given  it  a  singular  and  gloomy 
magnificence,  scarcely  possessed  by  any  other  city  in  the 
world. 

2.  The  most  pleasing  feature  in  the  scenery  around  the 
city  is  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat.  Passing  out  of  the  gate 
of  St.  Stephen,  you  descend  the  hill  to  the  torrent  of  Kedron, 
a  bridge  leads  over  its  dry  and  deep  bed  :  it  must  have  been 
a  very  narrow,  though,  in  winter  a  rapid  stream.  On  the 
left  is  a  grotto,"^  handsomely  fitted  up,  and  called  the  tomb 
of  the  Virgin  Mary,  though  it  is  well  known  she  neither 
died  nor  was  buried  near  Jerusalem. 

3.  A  few  steps  beyond  the  Kedron  you  come  to  the  garden 

a  Em-broid'-e-ry,  variegated  needle    b  E-lude,  to  escape,  to  avoid  by  artifice, 
work.  c  Grot'-to,  a  caYem. 


Chap.  VIII.  promiscuous  pieces.  159 

of  Gethspmane,  of  all  gardens  the  most  interesting  and  hal- 
lowed; but  how  neglected  and  decayed!  It  is  surrounded  by 
a  kind  of  low  hedge;  but  the  soil  is  bare;  no  verdure  grows 
on  it,  save  six  fine  venerable  olive-trees,  which  have  stood 
here  for  many  centuries.  This  spot  is  at  the  foot  of  Olivet, 
and  is  beautifully  situated;  you  look  up  and  down  the  ro- 
mantic valley ;  close  behind  rises  the  mountain ;  before  you 
are  the  walls  of  the  devoted  city. 

4.  While  lingering  here,  at  evening,  and  solitary, — for  it  is 
not  often  a  footstep  passes  by, — that  night  of  sorrow  and  dis- 
may rushes  on  the  imagination,  when  the  Redeemer  was 
betrayed  and  forsaken  by  all,  even  by  the  loved  disciple. — 
Hence  the  path  winds  up  the  Moimt  of  Olives:  it  is  a  beau- 
tiful hill:  the  words  of  the  Psalmist,  "the  mountains  around 
Jerusalem,"  must  not  be  literally*  applied,  as  none  are  within 
view  save  those  of  Arabia.  It  is  verdant,  and  covered  in 
Bome  parts  with  olive-trees. 

5.  From  the  sumriiit  you  enjoy  an  admirable  view  of  the 
city :  it  is  beneath  and  very  near:  and  looks,  with  its  valleys 
ar'^nnd  it,  exactly  like  a  panorama.^  Its  noble  temple  of 
Omar,  and  large  area*^  planted  with  palms  ;  its  narrow  streets, 
ruined  palaces  and  towers,  jire  all  laid  out  before  you.  On 
the  summit  are  the  remains  of  a  church,  built  by  the  Em- 
press Helena;  and  in  a  small  edifice  containing  one  large 
and  lofty  apartment,  is  shown  the  print  of  the  last  footstep  of 
Christ  when  he  took  his  leave  of  earth. 

6.  The  fathers  should  have  placed  it  nearer  to  Bethany, 
in  order  to  accord  with. the  account  given  us  in  Scripture; 
but  it  answers  the  purpose  of  drawing  crowds  of  pilgrims  to 
the  spot.  Descending  Olivet  to  the  narrow  valley  of  Jeho- 
shaphat,  you  soon  come  to  the  pillar  of  Absalom :  it  has  a 
very  antique*^  appearance,  and  is  a  pleasing  object  in  the  val- 
ley :  it  is  of  a  yellow  stone,  adorned  with  half  columns,  form- 
ed into  three  stages,  and  terminates  in  a  cupola. 

7.  The  tomb  of  Zecharias,  adjoining,  is  square,  with  four 
(CfT  five  pillars,  and  is  cut  out  of  the  rock.  Near  these  is  a 
sort  of  grotto,  hewn  out  of  an  elevated  part  of  the  rock, 
with  four  pillars  in  front,  which  is  said  to  have  been  the  apos- 
tles' prison  at  the  time  they  were  confined  by  the  rulers. 
The  small  and  wretched  village  of  Siloa  is  built  on  the  rug- 
ged sides  of  the  hill  above  ;  and  just  here  the  valleys  of 
Hinnom  and  Jehoshaphat  meet,  at  the  south-east  corner  of 
Mount  Zion:  they  are  both  sprinkled  with  olive-trees. 

8.  Over  the  ravine*  of  Hinnom,  and  directly  opposite  the 

a  Lit' -e-ral-ly,  with  adherence  to  words,  c  A'-re-a,  the  superficial  contents. 
*  Pan-o-ra'-ma,  complete  view,  a  paint-  d  An-tique',  ancient,  old 
liijf-  Rav-ine',  a  ioug  deep  hollow. 


160  NEW    ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT    I. 

city,  is  the  mount  of  Judgment,  or  of  evil  counsel ;  because 
there  they  say  the  rulers  took  counsel  against  Christ,  and 
the  palace  of  Caiaphas  stood.  It  is  a  broad  and  barren  hill, 
without  any  of  the  picturesque*  beauty  of  Olivet,  though 
loftier.  On  its  side  is  pointed  out  the  Aceldama,  or  field 
where  Judas  hung  himself:  a  small  and  rude  edifice  stands 
on  it,  and  it  is  used  as  a  burying-place. 

9.  But  the  most  interesting  portion  of  this  hill,  is  where 
its  rocks  descend  precipitously  into  the  valley  of  Hinnom, 
and  are  mingled  with  many  a  straggling  olive-tree.  All 
these  rocks  are  hewn  into  sepulchers  of  various  forms  and 
sizes :  no  doubt  they  were  the  tombs  of  the  ancient  Jews, 
and  are  in  general  cut  with  considerable  care  and  skill. 
They  are  often  the  resting-place  of  the  benighted  passenger. 
»Some  of  them  open  into  inner  apartments,  and  are  provided 
with  small  windows,  or  apertures,  cut  in  the  rock. 

10.  In  these  there  is  none  of  the  darkness  or  sadness  of 
the  tomb ;  but  in  many,  so  elevated  and  picturesque  is  the 
situation,  a  traveler  may  pass  hours,  with  a  book  in  his  hand, 
while  valley  and  hill  are  beneath  and  around  him.  Bef-^^e 
the  door  of  one  large  sepulcher  stood  a  tree  on  the  brink  of 
the  rock ;  the  sun  was  going  down  on  Olivet  on  the  right, 
and  the  resting-place  of  the  dead  commanded  a  sweeter 
scene,  than  any  of  the  abodes  of  the  living. 

11.  Many  ot  the  tombs  have  flights  of  steps  leading  up  to 
them  :  it  was  in  one  of  these  that  a  celebrated  traveler  would 
fix  the  site  of  the  holy  sepulcher:  it  is  certainly  more  pictu- 
resque, but  why  more  just  is  hard  to  conceive;  since  the 
words  of  Scripture  do  not  fixthe  identity^  of  the  sacred  tomb 
to  any  particular  spot,  and  tradition,*^  on  so  memorable  an 
occasion  could  hardly  err.  The  fathers  declare,  it  long  since 
became  absolutely,  necessary  to  cover  the  native  rock  with 
marble,  in  order  to  prevent  the  pilgrims  from*  destroying  it, 
in  their  zeal  to  carry  off  pieces  to  their  homes;  and  on  this 
point  their  relation  may,  one  would  suppose,  be  believed. 

12.  The  valley  of  Hinnom  now  turns  to  the  west  of  the 
city,  and  extends  rather  beyond  the  north  wall:  here  the 
plain  of  Jeremiah  commences,  and  is  the  best  wooded  tract 
in  the  whole  neighborhood,  in  this  direction,  but  fartnt-r 
on,  the  historian  of  the  siege  speaks  "  of  a  tower,  that  af- 
forded a  prospect  of  Arabia  at  sun-rising,  and  of  the  utmost 
limits  of  the  Hebrew  possessions  at  the  sea  west^vard."  The 
former  is  still  enjoyed  from  the  city;  but  the  latter  could 
only  be  had  at  a  much  greater  distance  north,  where  there  is 
no  hill  in  front. 

a  Pic-tur-esque',  beautiful  to  the  eye.  c  Tra-di'-tion,  transmission  from  fa* 
b  I  den'-ti-ty,  sameness.  iher  to  sou. 


Chap.  VIII.  promiscuous  pieces.  161 

13.  About  hair  a  mile  from  the  wall  are  the  tombs  of  the 
kiugs.  In  the  midst  of  a  hollow,  rocky  and  adorned  with  a 
few  trees,  is  the  entrance  :  you  then  find  a  large  apartment, 
above  fifty  feet  lon^,  at  the  side  of  which  a  low  door  leads 
into  a  series  of  small  chambers,  in  the  walls  of  which  are  se- 
veral deep  recesses,  hewn  oat  of  the  rock,  of  the  size  of  the 
human  body.  There  are  six  or  seven  of  these  low  and  dark 
apartments,' one  or  two  of  which  are  adorned  with  vine- 
leaves  and  '^lusfers  of  grapes. 

14.  Mar,  7  r^rcs  of  the  stone  coffins,  beautifully  ornamented 
in  the  SaraV,eiiic  manner,  are  strewed  on  the  fioor:  it  would 
seem  that  some  hand  of  ravage  had  broken  them  to  pieces, 
with  the  view  of  finding  something  valuable  within.  The  se- 
purchers  of  the  judges,  so  called,  are  situated  in  a  wild  spot, 
about  two  miles  from  the  city.  They  bear  much  resemblance 
to  those  of  the  kings,  but  are  not  so  handsome  or  spacious. 

15.  Returning  to  the  foot  of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  you  pro- 
ceed up  the  vale  of  Jehoshaphat  on  a  line  with  the  plain:  it 
Avidens  as  you  advance,  and  is  more  thickly  sprinkled  with 
olives.  When  arrived  at  the  hill  in  which  it  terminates,  the 
appearance*of  the  city  and  its  environs^  is  rich  and  magni- 
ficent; and  you  cannot  help  thinking  that  were  an  English 
party  suddenly  transported  here,  they  would  not  believe  it 
was  the  sad  and  dreary  Jerusalem  they  were  gazing  on. 

16.  This  is  the  finest  point  to  view  it  from  :  for  its  nume- 
rous minarets'-^  and  superb  mosque, '^  are  seen  to  great  advan- 
tage over  the  trees  of  the  plain  and  valley,  and  the  foreground 
is  verdant  and  cultivated.  One  or  two  houses  of  the  Turks 
stood  in  this  spot,  and  we  had  trespassed  on  the  rude  garden, 
of  one  of  them,  where  the  shade  of  a  spreading  tree  invited 
us  to  linger  over  the  prospect. 

17.  The  climate  of  the  city  and  country  is  in  general  very- 
healthy.  The  elevated  position  of  the  former,  and  the  nume- 
roushills  which  cover  the  greater  part  of  Palestine,  must  con- 
duce greatly  to  the  purity  of  the  air.  One  sv^ldom  sees  a  coun- 
try overrun  with  hills  in  the  manner  this  is:  in  general  they 
are  not  in  ranges,  but  more  or  less  isolated,'^  and  of  a  pictu- 
resque form.  Few  of  them  approach  to  the  character  of 
mountains,  save  Carrael,  the  Q,uarantina,  the  shores  of  the 
lakes,  and  those  which  bound  the  valley  of  the  .Jordan. 

IS.  To  account  for-the  existencejof  so  large  a  population 
in  the  promised  lands,  the  numerous  hills  must  have  been  en- 
tirely cultivated  :  at  present,  their  appearance  on  the  sides 
and  summits,  is  for  the  most  part  bare  and  rocky,     in  old 

a  Er-vi'-rons,  places  near  or  adjacent,    c  Mosque,  a  Mahometan  house  of  wop. 
b  Min'-ar-etSj  vsmall  spires  or  steeples.       ship. 

d  Is'-o-la-ted,  detached,  insulated. 
11 


162  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.         ^  PaRT   L 

time,  they  were  probably  formed  into  terraces,*  as  is  now 
seen  on  the  few  cultivated  ones,  where  the  vine,  olive,  and 
fig-tree  flourish. 

19.  High  up  the  rocky  side  of  a  hill,  on  the  left  of  the  wil- 
derness, and  amidst  a  profusion  of  trees,  is  the  cave  or  grotto 
of  St.  John.  A  fountain  gushes  out  close  by.  When  we  talk 
of  wildernesses,  mountains,  and  plains,  in  Palestine,  it  is  to 
be  understood,  that  they  seldom  answer  to  the  size  of  the  same 
objects  in  more  extensive  countries ;  that  they  sometimes  pre- 
sent but  a  beautiful  miniature  of  them.  It  certainly  deserved 
the  term,  given  by  the  Psalmist  to  the  city,  of  being  a  "  com- 
pact" country. 

20.  From  the  east  end  of  this  wilderness,  you  enter  the  fa- 
mous valley  of  Elah,  where  Goliah  was  slain  by  the  cham- 
pion of  Israel.  It  is  a  pretty  and  interesting  spot :  the  bot- 
tom covered  with  olive-trees.  Its  present  appearance  answers 
exactly  to  the  description  given  in  Scripture;  the  two  hills, 
on  which  the  armies  stood  entirely  confining  it  on  the  right 
and  left. 

21.  The  valley  is  not  above  half  a  mile  broad.  Tradition 
was  not  required  to  identify  this  spot ;  nature  has  stamped  it 
with  everlasting  features  of  truth.  The  brook  still  flows 
through  it  in  a  winding  course,  from  which  David  took  the 
smooth  stones;  the  hills  are  not  precipitous,^  but  slope  gra- 
dually down ;  and  the  vale  is  varied  with  banks  and  undula- 
tions,'^  and  not  a  single  habitation  is  visible  in  it. 

22.  At  the  south-east  of  Zion,  in  the  vale  of  Jehoshaphat, 
they  say  the  gardens  of  Solomon  stood,  and  also  on  the  sides 
of  the  hill  adjoining  that  of  Olivet.  It  was  not  a  bad,  though 
rather  a  confined  site  for  them.  The  valley  here  is  covered 
with  a  rich  verdure,  divided  by  hedges  into  a  number  of  small 
gardens.  A  mean-looking  village  stands  on  the  rocky  side  of 
the  hill  above.  Not  a  single  palm-tree  is  to  be  seen  in  the 
whole  territory  around,  where  once  every  eminence  was  co- 
vered with  them. 

23.  The  roads  leading  to  the  city  are  bad,  except  to  the 
north,  being  the  route  to  Damascus  ;  but  the  supplies  of  wood, 
and  other  articles  for  building  the  temple,  must  have  come 
by  another  way  than  the  near  and  direct  one  from  Jaffa, 
which  is  impassable  for  burthens  of  a  large  size,  from  the 
defiles^  and  rocks  amidst  which  it  is  carried ;  the  circuitous* 
routes  by  land  from  Tyre  or  Acre  were  probably  used. 

24.  The  Turk,  who  is  chief  of  the  guard  that  keeps  watch 
at  the  entrance  of  the  sacred  church,  waited  on  us  two  or 

a  Ter'-ra-ces,  raised  banks,  flat  roofs,  d  De. files',  narrow  passages. 

6  Pre-cip'-i-rous,  very  steep.  e  Cir'-cuit-ous.  going  round  in  a  circuit. 

c  Un-d^-la'-ticns,  waving  motions. 


Chap.  VIII.  promiscuous  pieces.  163 

three  times  5  he  is  a  rery  fine  and  dignified  looking  man,  and 
ensured  us  entrance  at  all  hours,  which  permission  we 
availed  ourselves  of  to  pass  another  night  amidst  its  hallow- 
ed scenes,  with  interest  and  pleasure  but  little  diminished. 

25.  We  chose  a  delightful  morning  for  a  walk  to  Bethany. 
The  path  leads  up  the  side  of  Olivet,  by  the  very  way  which 
our  Savior  is  said  to  have  descended,  in  his  last  entry  into 
Jerusalem.  At  a  short  distance  are  the  ruins  of  the  village  of 
Bethphage  ;  and  half  a  mile  farther  is  Bethany.  The  dis- 
tance is  about  tAvo  miles  from  the  city.  The  village  is  beau- 
tifully situated;  and  the  ruins  of  the  house  of  Lazarus  are 
still  shown,  and  do  credit  to  the  good  father's  taste. 

26.  The  condition  of  the  Jews  in  Palestine  is  more  inse- 
cure, and  exposed  to  insult  and  exaction,  than  in  Egypt  and 
in  Syria,  from  the  frequent  lawless  and  oppressive  conduct 
of  the  governors  and  chiefs.  These  distant  pachalics*  are  less 
under  the  control  of  the  Porte  ;*'  and  in  Egypt  the  subjects 
of  Mahmoud  enjoy  a  more  equitable  and  quiet  government, 
than  in  any  other  part  of  the  empire.  There  is  little  national 
feeling  or  enthusiasm  among  them;  though  there  are  some 
exceptions,  where  these  exist  in  an  intense  degree.  In  the 
city  they  appear  fearful  and  humbled ;  for  the  contempt  in 
which  they  are  held  by  the  Turks  is  excessive,  and  they 
often  go  poorly  clad  to  avoid  exciting  suspicion. 

27.  Yet  it  is  an  interesting  sight  to  meet  with  a  Jew,  wan- 
dering Avith  his  staff  in  his  hand,  and  a  venerable  beard 
sweeping  his  bosom,  in  the  rich  and  silent  plain  of  Jericho, 
on  the  sides  of  his  native  mountains,  or  on  the  ba-nks  of  the 
ancient  river  Kishon,  where  the  arm  of  the  mighty  was 
withered  in  the  battle  of  the  Lord.  Did  a  spark  of  the  love 
of  his  country  warm  his  heart,  his  feeling  must  be  exquisite  :* 
— but  his  spirit  is  suited  to  his  condition. 

Letters  from  the  East, 

a  Pa'-cha-lics,  provinceSj  or  govern-    b  Porte,  the  Ottoman  court, 
ments.  c  Ex'-quis-ite,  very  fine,  excellent. 


4 


PART  II. 

PIECES    IN    VERSE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

SELECT  PARAGRAPHS. 


Charity, 

Soft  peace  she  brin<Ts  wherever  she  arrives, 
She  builds  our  quiet  as  she  forms  our  lives  ;" 
Lays  the  rough  path  of  peevish  nature  even, 
Anil  opeas  in  each  breast  a  little  heaven. 

Love  of  Praise, 

The  love  of  praise,  howe'er  conceal'd  by  art, 
Reigns  more  Or  less,  and  glows  in  ev^ery  heart; 
The  proud  to  gain  it,  toils  on  toils  endure, 
The  modest  shun  it — but  to  make  it  sure. 

Beauty  of  Expression. 
Thy  words  had  such  a  meltirg  flow, 
And  spoke  of  truth  so  sweetly  well, 
They  dropped  like  heaven's  serenest  snow, 
And  all  was  brightness  where  ihey  fell. 

Man  and  Woma7i, 

Man  is  the  nigged,  lofty  pine. 

That  frowns  o'er  many  a  wave  beat  shore; 
Woman's  the  slender  graceful  vine, 
Whose  curling  tendrils  round  it  twine. 

And  deck  its  rough  bark  sweetly  o'er. 

Joy  and  Sorrow. 

In  the  dreams  of  delisfht  which  with  ardor  we  seek, 

Oft  the  phantom  of  soirow  appears  ; 
And  the  roses  of  pleasure,  which  bloom  on  your  cheek, 

Must  be  stecp'd  in  the  dew  of  your  tears. 

Pity. 

Teach  me  to  ^soothe  the  helpless  orphan's  grief. 

With  timely  aid  the  widow's Avoes  assuage; 
To  n.us'ry's  moving  cries  to  yield  relief, 

mia  *je  the  sure  resource'  of  drooping  ago. 


Chap.  I.  select  paragraphs.  165 

Reward. 

Think  not  the  good, 
The  gentle  deeds  of  mercy  thou  hast  done, 
Shall  die  forgotten  all;  the  poor,  the  prisoner, 
The  fatherless,  the  friendless,  and  the  widow, 
Who  daily  OAvn  the  bounty  of  thy  hand, 
Shall  cry  to  heaven  and  pull  a  blessing  on  thee. 

Hope. 

Why  do  those  cliffs  of  shadowy  tint  appear, 
More  sweet  than  all  the  landscapes  shining  near? 
'Tis  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view. 
And  robes  the  mountain  in  its  azure  hue  ! 
Thus  with  delight  we  linger  to  survey 
The  promis'd  joys  of  life's  unmeasur'd  way; 
Thus  from  afar,  each  dim  discover'd  scene, 
More  pleasing  seems  than  ail  the  past  hath  been 
And  every  form  that  fancy  can  repair, 
From  dark  oblivion,  glows  divinely  there. 

Niglit, 

Night,  sable  goddess  !  from  her  ebon  throne. 
In  ray  less  majesty  now  stretches  forth 
lier  leaden  sceptre  o'er  a  slumo'ring  world  • 
Silence,  how  dead  !  and  darkness,  how  profound* 
Nor  eye  nor  list'ning  ear  an  object  finds  ; 
Creation  sleeps.     'Tis  as  the  general  pulse 
Of  life  stood  still,  and  nature  made  a  pause 
An  awful  pause,  prophetic  of  her  end. 

Sleep, 

Tir'd  Nature's  sweet  restorer,  balmy  Sleep  ! 
He,  like  the  world,  his  ready  visits  pays 
Where  Fortune  smiles ;  the  wretched  he  forsakes  . 
Swift  on  his  downy  pinions,  tiies  from  grief. 

Battle. 

Now,  shield  with  shield,  with  helmet  helmet  clos'a 
To  armor  armor,  lance  to  lance  oppos'd  ; 
Host  against  host  the  shadowy  squadrons  drew; 
The  sounding  darts  in  iron  tempest  Hew. 
Victors  and  vanquish'd  join  promiscuous  cries, 
And  shrilling  shouts  and  dying  groans  arise  : 
With  streaming  blood  the  slipp'ry  fields  are  dy'd, 
And  slaughter'd  heroes  swell  the  dreadful  tide 


166  NEW   ENGLISH  READER.  PaRT  11. 

Courage. 
He's  truly  valiant,  that  can  wisely  sufFe-r 
The  worst  that  man  can  breathe  ;  and  make  his  wrong 
His  outsides,  to  wear  them  like  his  raiment,  carelessly, 
And  ne'er  prefer  his  injuries  to  his  heart, 
To  bring  it  into  danger. 

Mercy, 
Mercy  to  him  that  shows  it,  is  the  rule 
And  righteous  limitation  of  its  act; 
By  which  heaven  moves  in  pardoning  guilty  man. 
And  he  that  shows  none,  being  ripe  in  years. 
And  conscious  of  the  outrage  he  commits. 
Shall  seek  it,  and  not  find  it  in  his  turn. 

Humanity. 
I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends, 
(Though  grac'd  with  polish'd  manners  and  fine  sense, 
Yet  wanting  sensibility,)  the  man 
Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 
An  inadvertent  step  may  crush  the  snail, 
That  crawls  at  evening  in  the  public  path; 
But  he  that  has  humanity,  forewarn'd 
Will  tread  aside,  and  let  the  reptile  live. 

Opyoriuniiy. 
There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune ; 
Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 
Is  bound  in  shallows,  and  in  miseries. 
On  such  a  full  sea  are  we  now  afloat ; 
And  we  must  tak^  the  current  when  it  serves, 
Or  lose  our  ventures. 

Confidence  in  Divine  Protection, 
Man  may  trouble  and  distress  me, 

'Twill  but  drive  me  to  thy  breast; 
Life  with  trials  hard  may  press  me. 

Heaven  will  bring  me  sweeter  rest. 
Oh !  'tis  not  in  grief  to  harm  me, 
While  thy  love  is  left  to  me ; 

Oh  !  'twere  not  in  joy  to  charm  me, 

Were  that  joy  unmix'd  with  Thee. 

Retrospection. 
As  turns  the  pausing  trav'ler  back, 
At  close  of  evening,  to  survey 


GiLAP.   I.  SELECT   PARAGRAPHS.  167 

The  windings  of  the  weary  track, 

Through  which  the  day's  long  journey  lay, 
And  sees  by  that  departing  light 

Which  fled  so  fast  on  field  and  meadow. 
How  distant  objects  still  are  bright, 

When  nearer  things  are  sunk  in  shadow, — 
Ev'n  so  the  mind's  inquiring  eye 

Looks  backward  through  the  mist  of  years, 
When  in  its  vast  variety, 

The  chequerM  map  of  life  appears ; 
And  ev'n  when  life's  declining  years 

Have  ceas'd  to  paint  the  path  before  him, 
The  sunshine  of  her  youthful  days 

Still  casts  a  cheerful  influence  o'er  him. 

Alusic. 
Deep  as  the  murmurs  of  the  falling  floods ; 
Sweet  as  the  warbles  of  the  vocal  woods: 
The  list'ning  passions  hear,  and  sink  and  rise, 
As  the  rich  harmony  or  swells  or  dies  ! 
The  pulse  of  avarice  forgets  to  move ; 
A  purer  rapture  fills  the  breast  of  love  5 
Devotion  lifts  to  heav'n  a  holier  eye, 
And  bleeding  pity  heaves  a  softer  sigh. 
The  closing  strain  composed,  and  calm  she  play'd, 
And  sang  no  words  to  give  its  pathos  aid  ; 
But  grief  seem'd  ling'ring  in  its  lengthened  swell, 
And  like  so  many  tears,  the  trickling  touches  fell. 

Spring.  ^ 

From  the  moist  meadow  to  the  wither'd  hili, 
Led  by  the  breeze,  the  vivid  verdure  runs. 
And  swells  and  deepens  to  the  cherish'd  eye. 
The  hawthorn  whitens  ;  and  the  juicy  groves 
Put  forth  their  buds,  unfolding  by  degrees, 
Till  the  whole  leafy  forest  stands  display'd 
In  full  luxuriance,  to  the  sighing  gales. 

Summer, 

The  bright-effulgent  sun, 
Rising  direct,  swift  chases  from  the  sky 
The  short-liv'd  twilight,  and  with  ardent  blaze 
Looks  gaily  fierce  through  all  the  dazzling  air  : 
He  mounts  his  throne ;  but  kind  before  him  sends— 
Issuing  from  out  the  portals  of  the  morn — 
The  general  breeze,  to  mitigate  his  fire, 
And  breathe  refreshment  on  a  fainting  world. 


168  NEW   ENGLian    READER.  pART  II. 

Autumn. 

Now  the  leaf 
Incessant  rustles  from  the  mournful  ^rove, 
Oft  startling  such  as,  studious,  walk  below, 
And  slowly  circles  through  the  waving  air. 
Fled  is  the  blasted  verdure  of  the  fields. 
And,  shrunk  into  their  beds,  the  flowery  race 
Their  sunny  roLes  resign.     E'en  what  remained 
Of  stronger  fruits,  falls  from  the  naked  tree  ; 
And  woods,  fields,  gardens,  orchards,  all  around, 
The  desolated  prospect  thrills  the  soul. 

Winter. 
A  The  horizontal  sun, 

Broad  o'er  the  south,  hangs  at  his  utmost  noon, 
And,  ineffectual,  strikes  the  gelid  cliff: 
His  azure  gloss  the  mountain  still  maintains, 
Nor  feels  the  feeble  touch.     Perhaps  the  vale 
Relents  a  while  to  the  reflected  ray  ; 
Or  from  the  forest  falls  the  cluster'd  snow, 
Myriads  of  gems,  that  in  the  waving  gleam, 
Gay  twinkle  as  they  scatter.     Thick  around 
Thunders  the  sport  of  those,  who,  with  the  gun 
And  dog  impatieni,  bounding  at  the  shot, 
Worse  than  the  Season  desolate  the  fields. 

'Reputation. 

Good  name  in  man  and  woman. 
Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls: 
Who  steals  my  purse,  steals  trash ;  Uis  something,  no 

thing ; 
'Twas  mine,  'tis  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thousands  ; 
But  he  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name, 
Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him 
And  makes  me  poor  indeed. 

Slander, 
'Tis  slander ; 
Whose  edge  is  sharper  than  the  sword ;  wnose  tongue 
Outvenoms  ?11  the  worms  of  Nile ;  whose  breath 
Rides  on  the  posting  winds,  and  doth  belie 
All  corners  of  the  world ;  kings,  queens,  and  states, 
Maids,  matrons — nay,  the  secrets  of  the  grave 
This  viperous  slander  enters. 

Evening  Sounds, 
Sweet  was  the  sound,  when  oft,  at  evening's  close, 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose  ; 


Chap.  II.  narrative  pieces.  169 

There  as  I  pass'd  with  careless  steps  and  slow, 
The  mingling  notes  came  soften'd  from  below; 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milk-maid  sung, 
The  soher  herd  that  low'd  to  meet  their  young, 
The  nois}!  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool. 
The  playl^ul  children  just  let  loose  from  school, 
The  watch-dog's  voice  that  bay'd  the  whispering  wind, 
And  the  loud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant  mind, — 
These  all  in  soft  confusion  sought  the  shade. 
And  fill'd  each  pause  the  nightingale  had  made. 

Morning-  Sounds. 

Up  springs  the  lark, 
Shrlll-voic'd,  and  loud,  the  messenger  of  morn ; 
Ere  yet  the  shadows  fly,  he  mounted  sings 
Amid  the  dawning  clouds,  and  from  their  haunts 
Calls  up  the  tuneful  nations.     Every  copse. 
Deep-tangled,  tree  irregular,  and  bush. 
Bending  with  dewy  moisture  o'er  the  heads 
Of  the  coy  quiri*ters  that  lodge  within. 
Are  prodigal  of  harmony.     The  thrush 
And  woodlark,  o'er  the  kind  contending  throng 
Superior  lieard,  run  through  the  sweetest  length 
Of  notes ;  when  listening  Philomela  deigns 
To  let  them  joy,  and  purposes  in  thought 
Elate,  to  make  her  night  excel  their  day. 
The  black-bird  whistles  from  the  thorny  brake  ; 
The  mellow  bulfinch  answers  from  the  grove; 
Nor  are  the  linnets,  o'er  the  flowering  furze 
Pour'd  out  profusely,  silent.     Join'd  to  these, 
Innumerous  songsters,  in  the  freshening  ^hade 
Of  new-sprung  leaves,  their  modulations  mix 
Mellifluous.     The  jay,  the  rook,  the  daw. 
And  each  harsh  pipe,  discordant  heard  alone, 
Aid  the  full  concert ;  while  the  stock-dove  breatnes 
A  melancholy  murmur  through  the  whole. 


CHAPTER  II. 

NARRATIVE    PIECES. 
SECTION    I. 

T7ic  Hare  and  many  Friends. 
1.  Friendship  in  truth  is  hut  a  name, 
Unless  to  few  we  stint  the  flame. 
The  child,  whom  many  fathers  share, 
Haih  seldom  known  a  father's  care. 


170  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   IJ. 

'Tis  thus  in  friendship ;  who  depend 
On  many,  rarely-  find  a  friend. 
A  hare,  who  in  a  civil  way, 
Complied  with  every  thing  like  Gay, 
Was  known  by  all  the  bestial  train. 
Who  haunt  the  woods,  or  graze  the  plain. 
Her  care  was  never  to  offend  ; 
And  ev'ry  creature  was  her  friend. 

2.  As  forth  she  went  at  early  dawn, 
To  taste  the  dew-besprinkled  lawn. 
Behind  she  hears  the  hunter's  cries, 
And  from  deep-mouthed  thunder  flies. 
She  starts,  she  stops,  she  pants  for  breath; 

'  She  hears  the  near  advance  of  death; 
She  doubles  to  mislead  the  hound. 
And  measures  back  her  mazy  round, 
Till,  fainting  in  the  public  way. 
Half-dead  with  fear  she  gasping  lay. 

3.  What  transport  in  her  bosom  grew, 
When  first  the  horse  appear'd  in  view ! 

"  Let  me,"  says  she,  "your  back  ascend, 
And  owe  my  safety  to  a  friend. 
You  know  my  feet  betray  my  flight ; 
To  friendship  ev'ry  burthen's  light." 

The  horse  replied, — "  Poor  honest  puss ! 
It  grieves  my  heart  to  see  thee  thus : 
Be  comforted,  relief  is  near  ; 
For  all  your  friends  are  in  the  rear." 

4.  She  next  the  stately  bull  implor'd ; 
And  thus  replied  the  mighty  lord  ; — 

"  Since  ev'ry  beast  alive  can  tell 
That  I  sincerely  wish  you  well, 
I  may,  without  offense,  pretend 
To  take  the  freedom  of  a  friend. — 
To  leave  you  thus  might  seem  unkind ; 
But  see,  the  goat  is  just  behind." 

5.  The  goat  remark'd  her  pulse  was  high. 
Her  languid  head,  her  heavy  eye, — 

"  My  back,"  says  he,  "  may  do  you  harm  ; 
The  sheep's  at  hand,  and  wool  is  warm." 
The  sheep  was  feeble,  and  complain'd 
His  sides  a  load  of  wool  sustain'd  ; 
Said  he  was  slow,  confess'd  his  fears ; 
For  hounds  eat  sheep  as  well  as  hares. 

6.  She  now  the  trotting  calf  addressed, 
To  save  from  death  a  friend  distressed. 


Chap.  II.  narrative  pieces.  171 

"  Shall  I,"  says  he,  "of  tender  age, 
In  this  important  care  engage  ? 
Older  and  abler  pass'd  you  by  : 
How  strong  are  those  !  how  Aveak  am  I  i 
Should  I  presume  to  bear  you  hence, 
Those  friends  of  mine  might  take  oilense. 
Excuse  me  then  :  you  know  my  heart, 
But  dearest  friends,  alas  !  must  part. 
How  shall  we  all  lament! — Adieu! 
For,  see,  the  hounds  are  just  in  view." 

SECTION  ir. 

The  African  Chief. 

1.  Chained  in  the  market  place  he  stood, 

A  man  of  giant  frame, 
Amid  the  gathering  multitude 

That  shrunk  to  hear  his  name. 
All  stern  of  look  and  strong  of  limb, 

His  dark  eye  on  the  ground ; 
And  silently  they  gazed  on  him 

As  on  a  lion  bound. 

2.  Vainly,  but  well,  that  chief  had  fought ; 

He  was  a  captive  now : — 
Yet  pride,  that  fortune  humbles  not, 

Was  written  on  his  brow. 
The  scars  his  dark  broad  bosom  wore, 

Showed  warrior  true  and  brave : 
A  prince  among  his  tribe  before. 

He  could  nofbe  a  slave. 

3.  Then  to  his  conqueror  he  spake — 

"  My  brother  is  a  king ; 
Undo  this  necklace  from  my  neck, 

And  take  this  bracelet  ring ; 
And  send  me  where  my  brother  reigns, 

And  I  will  fill  thy  hands 
With  store  of  ivory  from  the  plains, 

And  gold  dust  from  the  sands." 

4.  Not  for  thy  ivory  nor  thy  gold 

Will  I  unbind  thy  chains  ; 
That  bloody  hand  shall  never  hold 

The  battle  spear  again. 
A  price  thy  nation  never  gave, 

Sf.all  yet  be  paid  for  thee  ; 
For  thou  shalt  be  the  Christian's  slave 

In  lands  beyond  the  sea." 


172  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  pART  I. 

5.  Then  spoke  the  Avarrior  chief,  and  bade 

To  shred  his  locks  away  ; 
And,  one  by  one,  each  heavy  braid 

Before  the  victor  lay. 
Thick  were  the  plaited  locks  and  long, 

And  deftly  hidden  there. 
Shone  many  a  wedge  of  gold  among 

The  dark  and  crisped  hair. 

C.  "  Look  !  feast  thy  greedy  eyes  with  gold, 

Long  kept  for  sorest  need : 
Take  it,  thou  askest  sums  untold. 

And  say  that  I  am  freed. 
Take  it — my  wife,  the  long,  long  day, 

Weeps  by  the  cocoa-tree  : 
And  my  young  children  leave  their  play, 

And  ask  in  vain  for  me." 

7.  "  I  take  thy  gold  ;  but  I  have  made 

Thy  fetters  fast  and  strong  ; 
^  And  ween  that  by  the  cocoa  shade 
Thy  wife  shall  wait  thee  long." 
Strong  was  the  agony  inat  shook 

The  captive's  frame  to  hear  ; 
And  the  proud  meaning  of  his  look 
Was  changed  to  mortal  fear. 

8.  His  heart  was  broken — crazed  his  brain; 

At  once  his  eye  grew  wild: 
He  struggled  fiercely  with  his  chain, 

Wluspered,  and  wept,  and  smiled  ! 
Yet  wore  not  long  those  fatal  bands ; 

And  once  at  shut  of  day. 
They  drew  him  forth  upon  the  sand, 

The  foul  hyena's  prey.  Bryant, 

SECTION    III. 

The  Sacrifice  of  Abraham. 

].  Morn  breaketh  in  the  east.  The  purple  clouda 
Are  putting  on  their  gold  and  violet, 
To  look  the  meeter  for  the  sun's  bright  coming. 
Sleep  is  upon  the  waters  and  the  wind ; 
And  nature  from  the  wary  forest-leaf 
To  her  majestic  master,  sleeps.     As  yet 
There  is  no  mist  upon  the  deep  blue  sky, 
And  the  clear  dew  is,  on  the  blushing  blossoms 
Of  crimson  roses  in  a  holy  rest. 


Chap.  IT.  narrative  pieces.  173 

2.  How  hallowed  is  the  hour  of  morning  !  meet, 
Aye — beautifully  meet  for  the  pure  prayer. 

The  patriarch  standeth  at  his  tented  door, 
"With  his  white  locks  unc^ver'd.     'Tis  his  wont 
To  gaze  upon  the  gorgeous  orient; 
And  at  that  hour  the  awful  majesty 
^^"Of  man  who  talketh  often  wnth  his  God, 
Is  wont  to  come  again  and  clothe  his  brow, 
As  at  his  fourscore  strength.  < 

3.  But  now,  he  seemeth 

To  be  forgetful  of  his  vigorous  frame, 

And  boweth  to  his  stall' as  at  the  hour 

Of  noontide  sultriness.     And  that  bright  sun — 

He  looketh  at  his  penciPd  messengers, 

Coming  in  golden  raiment,  as  if  all 

AVere  but  a  graven  scroll  of  fearfulness. 

Ah,  he  is  waiting  till  it  herald  in 

The  hour  to  sacrifice  his  much  lov'd  son ! 

4.  Light  poureth  on  the  world.     And  Sarah  stands, 
Watching  the  steps  of  Abraham  and  her  child, 
Along  the  dewy  sides  of  the  far  hills, 

And  praying  tiiat  her  sunny  boy  faint  not — 
Would  she  have  watched  their  paths 'so  silently, 
If  she  had  known  that  he  was  going  up, 
Ev'n  in  his  fair  hair'd  beauty,  to  be  slain, 
As  a  white  lamb  for  sacrifice  ? 

5.  They  trod 
Together  on v/ard,  patriarch  and  child — 

The  bright  sun  throwing  back  the  old  man's  shade 

In  straight  and  fair  proportion,  as  of  one 

Whose  years  were  freshly  number'd.     He  stood  up, 

Even  in  his  vigorous  strength,  and  like  a  tree 

Rooted  in  Lebanon,  his  frame  bent  not ; 

His  thin,  white  hairs  had  yielded  to  the  wind, 

And  left  his  brow  uncover'd  ;  and  his  face, 

Impress'd  w4th  the  stern  majesty  of  grief, 

Nerved  to  a  solem  duty,  now  stood  forth 

Like  a  rent  rock,  submissive,  yet  sublime. 

G.  But  tliife  young  boy — he  of  the  laughing  eye 
And  ruby  ^,  the  pride  of  life  was  on  him. 
He  seemecpto  drijjk  the  morning.     The  sun  and  dew, 
And  the  aroma  of  the  spicy  trees, 
And  all  that  giveth  the  delicious  east 
Its  fitness  for  an  Eden,  stole  like  light 
Into  his  spirit,  ravishing  his  thoughts 
With  love  and  beauty.     Every  thing  he  met. 


174  NEAV   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   II. 

Buoyant  or  beautiful,  the  lightest  wing 
Of  bird  or  insect,  or  the  palest  dye 
Of  the  fresh  flowers,  won  him  from  his  path, 
And  joyously  broke  forth  his  tjny  shout, 
As  he  flung  back  his  silken  hair,  and  sprung 
Away  to  some  green  spot,  or  clustering  vine, 
To  pluck  his  infant  trophies. 

7.  Every  tree 
And  fragrant  shrut)  was  a  new  hiding-place ; 
And  he  would  crouch  till  the  old  man  came  by, 
Then  bound  before  him  with  his  childish  laugh. 
Stealing  a  look  behind  him  playfully, 

To  see  if  he  had  made  his  father  smile. 

8.  The  sun  rode  on  in  heaven.     The  dew  stole  up 
From  the  fresh  daughters  of  the  earth,  and  heat 
Came  like  asleep  upon  the  delicate  leaves, 

And  bent  them  with  blossoms  to  their  dreams. 
Still  trod  the  patriarch  on  with  that  same  step, 
Firm  and  unfaltering,  turning  not  aside 
To  seek  the  olive  shades,  or  lave  their  lip 
In  the  sweet  waters  at  the  Syrian  wells. 
Whose  gush  hath  so  much  music. 

9.  Weariness 
Stole  on  the  gentle  boy,  and  he  forgot 
To  toss  the  sunny  hair  from  off  his  brow, 
And  spring  for  the  fresh  flowers  on  light  wingf 
As  in  the  early  morning ;  but  he  kept 
Close  by  his  father's  side,  and  bent  his  head 
Upon  his  bosom  like  a  drooping  bud. 
Lifting  it  not,  save  now  and  then  to  steal 

A  look  up  to  that  face,  whose  sternness  awed 
His  childishness  to  silence. 

10.  It  was  noon— 
And  Abraham  on  Moriah  bow'd  himself, 

And  -buried  up  his  face,  and  pray'd  for  strength. 
He  could  not  look  upon  his  son  and  pray  ; 
But  with  his  hand  upon  the  clustering  curls 
Of  the  fair,  kneeling  boy,  he  pray'd  that  God 
Would  nerve  him  for  that  hour.     Oh  man  was  made 
For  the  stern  conflict.     In  a  mother's  love 
There  is  more  tenderness ;  the  thousand  cords 
Woven  with  every  fiber  of  her  heart. 
Complain,  like  delicate  harp-strings,  at  a  breath  j 
But  love  in  man  is  one  deep  principle, 


Chat.  III.  didactic  pieces.  175 

Which,  like  a  root  grown  in  a  rifted  rock, 
Abides  the  tempest. 

11,  He  rose  up  and  laid 
The  wood  upon  the  altar.     All  was  done, 

He  stood  a  moment — and  a  deep,  quick  flush 
Pass'd  o'er  his  countenance ;  and  then  he  nerv'd 
His  spirit  with  a  bitter  strength,  and  spoke — 
"  Isaac  !  my  only  son" — The  boy  look'd  up, 
And  Abraham  turned  his  face  away,  and  wept. 

12.  "Where  is  the  lamb,  my  father?" — oh  the  tones. 
The  sweet,  the  thrilling  music  of  a  child! 

How  It  doth  agonize  at  such  an  hour! 

It  was  the  last,  deep  struggle — Abraham  held 

His  lov'd,  his  beautiful,  his  only  son, 

And  lifted  up  his  arm,  and  call'd  on  God — 

And  lo !  God's  Angel  staid  him — and  he  fell 

Upon  his  face  and  wept.  Willis, 


CHAPTER  III. 

DIDACTIC    PIECES. 
•     SECTION  I. 

On  Early  Rising. 

1.  The  breath  of  night's  destructive  to  the  hue 
Of  every  flower  that  blows.     Go  to  the  field, 
And  ask  the  humble  daisy  why  it  sleeps. 

Soon  as  the  sun  departs :  Why  close  the  eyes 
Of  blossoms  infinite,  ere  the  still  moon 
Her  oriental  veil  puts  off?  Think  why, 
Nor  let  the  sweetest  blossom  be  exposed 
That  nature  boasts,  to  night's  unkindly  damp: 
Well  may  it  droop,  and  all  its  freshness  lose, 
Compelled  to  taste  the  rank  and  poisonous  steam 
Of  midnight  theater,  and  morning  ball. 

2.  Give  to  repose  the  solemn  hour  she  claims ; 
And,  from  the  forehead  of  the  morning,  steal 
The  sweet  occasion.     O !  there  is  a  charm 
That  morning  has,  that  gives  the  brow  of  age 

A  smack  of  youth,  and  makes  the  lip  of  youth 
Breath  perfumes  exquisite.     Expect  it  not. 
Ye  who  till  noon  upon  a  down-bed  lie,' 
Indulging  feverish  sleep,  or  wakeful  dream 
Of  happiness  no  mortal  heart  has  felt, 
But  ia  the  regions  of  romance. 


176  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT  JL 

3.  Ye  fair, 

Like  you  it  must  be  wooed,  or  never  won: 
And,  being  lost,  it  is  in  vnin  ye  ask 
For  milk  of  roses  and  Olympian  dew. 
Cosmetick  art  no  tincture  can  afford, 
The  faded  features  to  restore:  no  chain 
Be  it  of  gold,  and  strong  as  adamant, 
Can  fetter  beauty  to  the  fair  one's  will.  Hiirdis. 

SECTION    II. 

Nature  and  Poetry  favorable  to  virtue. — JImnilUy  recom" 
mended  in  judging  of  the  ways  of  Providence. 

1.  O  Nature,  how  i^  every  cbarrn  supreAie  1 
Whose  votaries  feast  on  raptures  ever  new; 

O  for  the  voice  and  fire  of  seraphim, 
To  sing  thy  glories  with  devotion  due  ! 
Blest  be  the  day  I  'scaped  the  vvrangling  crew, 

From  Pyrrho's  maze,  and  Epicurus'  sty  ; 

And  held  high  converse  v/ith  the  godlike  few, 

Who,  to  th'  enraptured  heart,  and  ear,  and  eye, 
Teach  beauty,  virtue,  truth,  and  love,  and  melody- 

2.  Then  hail,  ye  mighty  masters  of  the  lay, 
Nature's  true  sons,  the  friends  of  man  and  truth! 

Whose  song,  sublimely  sweet,  serenely  gay, 
Amused  my  childhood,  and  informed  my  youth. 

.     O  let  your  spirit  still  my  bosom  soothe, 

Inspire  my  dreams,  and  my  wild  Avanderings  guide: 
Your  voice  each  rugged  path  of  life  can  smooth, 

For  well  I  know  wherever  ye  reside, 
There  harmony,  and  peace,  and  innocence  abide. 

3.  Ah  me !  neglected  on  the  lonesome  plain, 
As  yet  poor  Edwin  never  knew  your  lore; 

Save  wlien,  against  the  winter's  drenching  rain, 
And  driving  snow,  the  cottage  shut  the  door. 
Then,  as  instructed  by  tradition  hoar. 

Her  legend  v.' hen  the  beldam  'gan  impart, 
Or  chant  the  old  heroic  ditty  o'er, 

Woiid  T  and  joy  ran  thrilling  to  his  heart : 
Much  he  the  tale  admired,  but  more  the  tuneful  art. 

^      4.  Various  and  strange  w^as  the  long-w^inded  tale; 

And  halls,  and  knights  and  feats  of  arms  displayed; 
Or  merry  sv/ains  who. quaff  tlie  nut-brown  ale, 
And  sing,  enamored  of  the  uut-brov/n  maid. 


Chap.  Ill,  didactic  pieces.  177 

The  moonlight  revel  of  the  fairy  glade, 
Or  hags  that  suckle  an  infernal  brood, 

And  ply  in  ca.ves  th'  unutterable  trade, 
'Midst  fiends  and  specters,  quench  the  moon  in  blood, 
Yell  in  the  midnight  storm,  or  ride  th'  infuriate  flood. 

5.  But  when  to  horror  his  amazement  rose, 

A  gentler  strain  the  beldam  would  rehearse, 
A  tale  of  rural  life,  a  tale  of  woes, 

The  orphan-babes,  and  guardian  uncle  fierce.f 

O  cruel !  will  no  pang  of  pity  pierce 
That  heart,  by  lust  of  lucre  seared  to  stone  1 

For  sure,  if  aught  of  virtue  last,  or  verse, 
To  latest  times  shall  tender  souls  bemoan 
Those  hopeless  orphan-babes,  by  thy  fell  arts  undone. 

6.  Behold,  with  berries  smeared,  with  brambles  torn, 
The  babes  now  famished,  lay  them  down  to  die : 

Amidst  the  howl  of  darksome  woods  forlorn, 
Folded  in  one  another's  arms  they  lie ; 
Nor  frijend,  nor  stranger,  hears  their  dying  cry  : 
"  For  from  the  town  the  man  returns  no  more." 

But  thou,  who  Heaven's  just  vengeance  dar'st  defy, 
This  deed,  with  fruitless  tears,  shall  soon  deplore, 
When  Death  lays  waste  thy  house,  and  flames  consume  thy 
store. 

7.  A  stifled  smile  of  stern,  vindictive  joy, 
Brightened  one  moment  Edwin's  starting  tear: 

^^But  why  should  gold  man's  feeble  mind  decoy, 
Anri  innocence  thus  die  by  doom  severe?" 
O  Edwin  !  while  thy  heart  is  yet  sincere, 

Th'  assaults  of  discontent  and  doubt  repel : 
Dark,  even  at  noontide,  is  our  mortal  sphere  ; 

But,  let  us  IwDpe  ; — to  doubt  is  to  rebel ; — 
Let  us  exult  in  hope,  that  all  shall  yet  be  well. 

S.  Nor  be  thy  generous  indignation  check'd. 
Nor  check'd  the  tender  tear  to  Misery  given  ; 

From  Guilt's  contagious  power  shall  that  protect. 
This  soften  and  refine  the  soul  for  heaven. 
But  dreadful  is  their  doom  whom  doubt  has  driven 

•  Allusion  to  Shakspeare. 

Macbeth.— Uinv  now,  ye  secret,  black,  and  midnight  liaiis, 

What  is'tyedo? 
Wiic/ies, — ^A  deed  without  a  name. 

Macbeth.— Act  IV.  Scene  I. 

t  Soc  the  fine  old  ballad,  called  The  Children  in  the  Wood. 

12 


17S  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   IL 

To  censure  Fate,  and  pious  Hope  forego 

Like  yonder  blasted  boughs  by  liofhtning  riven, 
Perfection,  beauty,  life,  they  never  know, 
But  iTovvn  on  all  that  pass,  a  monument  of  wo. 

9.  Shall  he,  whose  birth,  maturity,  and  age, 
Scarce  fill  the  circle  of  one  summer's  day, — 

Shall  the  poor  gnat,  with  discontent  and  rage, 
Exclaim  thai  Nature  hastens  to  decay 
If  but  a  cloud  obscure  the  solar  ray, — 

If  but  a  momentary  shower  descend! — 

Or  shall  frail  man  heaven's  high  decree  gamsay 

Which  bade  tlie  series  of  events  extend, 
Wide  through  unnumbered  worlds,  and  ages  without  end  ! 

10.  One  part,  one  little  part,  we  dimly  scan, 
Through  the  dark  n)ediuni  of  life's  feverish  dream; 

Yet  dare  arraign  the  whole  stupendous  plan, 
If  but  that  little  part  incongruous  seem. 
Nor  is  that  part,  perhaps,  what  mortals  deem; 
Oft  from  apparent  ill  our  blessings  rise. 

O  then  renounce  that  impious  self-esteem, 
That  aims  to  trace  the  secrets  of  the  skies; 
For  thou  an  but  of  dust; — be  humble,  and  be  wise. 

Beattie. 

SECTION   in. 

\  Human  Frailty. 

1.  What  are  our  joys  but  dreams  ?  And  what  our  hopes 
But  goodly  shadows  in  the  summer  cloud? 

There's  not  a  Avind  that  blows,  but  bears  with  it 
Some  rainbow  promise — Not  a  moment  flies, 
But  puts  its  sickle  in  the  fields  of  life. 
And  mows  its  thousands,  with  their  joys  and  cares. 
'Tis  but  as  yesterday,  since  on  yon  star? 
Which  now  I  view,  the  Chaldee  shepherd  gaz'd 
In  his  mid-watch,  observant,  and  dispos'd 
The  twinkling  hosts  as  fancy  gave  them  shape. 

2.  Yet  in  the  interim,  what  mightly  shocks 
Have  buffeted  mankind — whole  nations  raz'd — 
Cities  made  desolate — the  polish'd  sunk 

To  barbarism,  and  once  barbaric  states 
Swaying  the  wand  of  science  and  of  art ; 
Illustrious  deeds  and  memorable  names 
Blotted  from  record,  and  upon  the  tongue 
Of  gray  tradition  voluble  no  more. 


Chap.  III.  didactic  pieces.  179 

3.  Where  are  the  heroes  of  ages  past, — 

Where  the  brave  chieftains, — where  tlie  mighty  ones 

Who  flourished  in  the  infancy  of  days? — 

All  to  the  grave  gone  down  ! — On  their  fall'n  fame 

Exultant,  mockinj^  at  the  pride  of  man, 

Sits  grim  For  g  elf  nines  s. — The  warrior's  arm 

Lies  nerveless  on  the  pillow  of  its  shame; 

Hush'd  is  his  stormy  voice,  and  quench'd  the  blaze 

Of  his  red  eye-ball. 

4.  Yesterday  his  name 

Was  mighty  on  the  earth — To-djiy — 'tis  what? 
The  meteor  of  the  night  of  distant  years. 
That  flash'd  unnotic'd,  save  by  wrinkled  eld, 
Musing  at  midnight  upon  prophecies. 
Who  at  her  lonely  lattice  saw  the  gleam 
Point  to  the  mist-pois'd  shroud,  then  quietly 
Clos'd  her  pale  lips,  and  lock'd  the  secret  up, 
Safe  in  the  cliarnel's  treasures. 

5.  O  how  weak 
Is  mortal  man  !  How  trifling — how  confin'd 
His  scope  of  vision  ! — Pufl'd  with  confidence, 
His  phrase  grows  big  with  immortality  ; 
And  he,  poor  insect  of  a  summer's  day, 
Dreams  of  eternal  honors  to  his  name, — 

Of  endless  glory,  and  perennial  bays. 
He  idly  reasons  of  eternity. 
As  of  tlie  train  of  ages, — when,  alas  ! 
Ten  thousand  thousand  of  his  centuries 
Are,  in  comparison,  a  little  point, 
Too  trivial  lor  account. 

6.  O  it  is  strange, 

Tis  passing  strange,  to  mark  his  fallacies  : 
Behold  him  proudly  view  some  pompous  pile 
Whose  high  dome  swells  to  emulate  the  skies, 
And  smile  and  say,  my  name  shall  live  with  this 
Till  Time  shall  be  no  more  ; — while  at  his  feet, 
Yea,  at  his  very  feet,  the  crumbling  dust 
Of  the  falPn  fabric  of  the  other  day 
Preaches  the  solemn  lesson. 

7.  He  should  know 
That  time  must  conquer, — that  the  loudest  blast 
That  ever  fili'd  Renown's  obstrep'rous  trump 
Fades  in  the  lapse  of  ages,  and  expires. 

Who  lies  inhum'd  in  the  terrific  gloom 

Of  the  gigantic  pyramid  ?  Or  who 

Rear'd  its  huge  wall  ? — Oblivion  laughs  and  says 


380  NEW  ENGLISH   READER.  pART   II. 

The  prey  is  mine.     They  sleep,  and  never  more 
Their  names  shall  strike  upon  the  ear  of  man  : 
Their  memory  burst  its  fetters. 

8.  Where  is  Rome  ?— 

She  lives  but  in  the  tale  of  other  times  ; 
Her  proud  pavilions  are  the  hermit's  home ; 
And  her  long  colonnades,  her  public  walks, 
Now  faintly  echo  to  the  pilgrim's  feet. 
Who  comes  to  muse  in  solitude,  and  trace. 
Through  the  rank  moss  reveaPd,  her  honor'd  dust. 
But  not  to  Rome  alone  has  fate  confined 
The  doom  of  ruin  ;  cities  numberless — 
Tyre,  Sidon,  Carthage,  Babylon,  and  Troy, 
And  rich  Phoenicia, — they  are  blotted  out, 
Haif-raz'd  from  memory  j  and  their  very  name 
And  being  in  dispute  ! 

SECTION    IV. 

Harvest  Hymn, 

1.  God  of  the  year  I — With  songs  of  praise, 

And  hearts  of  love,  we  come  to  bless 
Thy  bounteous  hand  ;  for  thou  hast  shed 

Thy  manna  o'er  the  wilderness: 
In  early  spring-time  thou  didst  fling 
O'er  earth  its  robe  of  blossoming; 
And  its  sweet  treasures,  day  by  day, 
Rose  quickening  in  the  blessed  ray. 

2.  And  now  they  whiten  hill  and  vale. 

And  hang  from  every  vine  and  tree,- 
Whose  pensile  branches,  bending  low, 

Seem'd  bowed  in  thankfulness  to  thee : 
The  earth,  with  all  its  purple  isles, 
Is  answering  to  the  genial  smiles  ; 
And  gales  of  perfume  breathe  along. 
And  lift  to  thee  their  voiceless  song. 

3.  God  of  the  seasons  !  Thou  hast  blest 

The  land  with  sunlight  and  with  showers; 
And  plenty  o'er  its  bosom  smiles. 

To  croAvn  the  sweet  Autumnal  hours: 
Praise,  praise  to  thee  ! — Our  hearts  expand 
To  view  the  blessings  of  thy  hand  ; 
And,  on  the  incense  breath  of  Love 
Go  off  to  their  bright  home  above. 


ClIAP.  III.  DIDACTIC  PIECES.  181 

SECTION    V.        • 

Education, 

1.  Alas!  what  differs  more  than  man  from  man! 
And  whence  this  difference  ? — whence  but  from  himself? 
For,  see  the  universal  race,  endowed 

With  the  same  upright  form  !     The  sun  is  fixed 

And  th'  infinite  magnificence  of  heaven, 

Within  the  reach  of  every  human  eye; 

The  sleepless  ocean  murmurs  in  all  ears; 

The  vernal  field  infuses  fresh  delight 

Into  all  hearts.     Throughout  the  world  of  sense, 

Even  as  an  object  is  sublime  or  fair, 

That  object  is  laid  open  to  the  view 

Without  reserve  or  veil ;  and  as  a  power 

Is  salutary,  or  its  influence  sweet, 

Are  each  and  all  enabled  to  perceive 

That  j)ower,  that  influence,  by  impartial  law 

2.  Gifts  nobler  are  vouchsafed  alike  to  all, 
Reason, — and,  with  that  reason,  smiles  and  tears, 
Imagination,  freedom  of  the  will, 
Conscience  to  guide  and  check,  and  death 

To  be  foretasted, — immortality  presumed. 

Strange  then,  nor  less  than  monstrous  might  be  deemed 

The  failure,  if  th'  Almighty,  to  this  point 

Liberal  and  undistinguishing,  should  hide 

The  excellence  of  moral  qualities 

From  common  understanding, — leaving  truth 

And  virtue,  difficult,  abstruse  and  dark 

Hard  to  be  won,  and  only  by  a  few : — 

Strange,  should  he  deal  herein  with  nice  respects, 

And  frustrate  all  the  rest!     Believe  it  not: 

The  primal  duties  shine  aloft — like  stars; 

The  charities  that  soothe,  and  heal,  and  bless 

Are  scattered  at  the  feet  of  man — like  flowers. 

3.  The  generous  inclination,  the  just  rule. 
Kind  wishes,  and  good  actions,  and  pure  thoughts 
No  mystery  is  here ;  no  special  boon 
Fji  high  and  not  for  low — for  proudly  graced 
And  not  for  meek  in  heart.     The  smoke  ascends 
To  heaven  as  lightly  from  the  cottage  hearth, 
As  from  the  haughty  palace.     He  whose  soul 
Ponders  its  true  equality,  may  walk 
The  fields  of  earth  with  gratitude  and  hope; 
Yet  in  that  meditation  will  he  find 


i 


182  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   II. 

Motive  to  sadder  grief,  when  his  thoughts  turn 
From  nature's  justice,  to  the  social  wrongs 
That  make  such  difference  betwixt  man  and  man. 

4.  Oh  for  the  coming  of  that  glorious  time, 
When,  prizing  knowledge  as  her  noblest  wealth 
And  best  protection,  this  imperial  realm, 
While  she  exacts  allegiance,  shall  admit 
An  obligation  on  her  part,  to  teach 
Those  who  are  born  to  serve  her  and  obey; 
Binding  herself  by  statute  to  secure, 
For  all  the  children  whom  her  soil  raamtains, 
The  rudiments  of  Letters,  and  inform 
The  mind  with  moral  and  religious  truth, 
Both  understood  and  practised  ; — so  that  none 
However  destitute,  be  left  to  droop, 
By  timely  culture  unsustained,  or  run 
Into  a  Wild  disorder,  or  be  forced 
To  drudge  through  wearyilife,  without  the  aid 
Of  intellectual  implements  and  tools, — 
A  savage  horde  among  the  civilized, — 
A  servile  band  among  the  lordly  free  ! 

5.  This  right — as  sacred,  almost,  as  tne  right 
T'  exist  and  be  supplied  with  sustenance 

And  means  of  life — the  lisping  babe  proclaims 

To  be  inherent  in  him  by  heaven's  will, 

For  the  protection  of  his  innocence  ; 

And  the  rude  boy  who  knits  his  angry  brow, 

And  lifts  his  wilful  hand  on  mischief  bent, 

Or  turns  the  sacred  faculty  of  speech 

To  impious  use,  by  process  indirect 

Declares  his  due,  while  he  makes  known  his  need. 

6.  This  sacred  right  is  fruitlessly  announced — 
This  universal  plea  in  vain  addressed — 

To  eyes  and  ears  of  parents,  who  themselves 
Did,  in  the  time  of  their  necessity, 
Urge  it  in  vain;  and,  therefore,  like  a  prayer 
That  from  the  humblest  floor  ascends  to  heaven, 
It  mounts  to  reach  the  State's  parental  ear; 
Who,  if  indeed  she  own  a  mother's  heart, 
And  be  not  most  unfeelingly  devoid 
Of  gratitude  to  Providence,  will  grant 
Th'  unquestionable  good. 

7.  The  discipline  of  slavery  is  unknown 
Among  us, — hence  the  mere  do  we  reqmre 


Chap.  III.  didactic  pieces.  1S3 

J 

The  discipline  of  virtue,  order  else 

Cannot  subsist,  nor  confidence,  nor  peace. 

Thus,  duties  rising  out  of^ood  possessed, 

And  prudent  caution,  needful  to  avert 

Im[)ending  evil,  do  alike  require 

That  permanent  provision  should  be  made 

For  the  whole  people  to  he  taught  and  trained: — 

So  shall  licentiousness  and  black  resolve 

Be  rooted  out,  and  virtuous  habits  take 

Their  place;  and  genuine,  piety  descend, 

Like  an  inheritance,  from  asje  to  a^e.      iVordsworth. 


section  VI. 
Address  to  Liberty. 

1.  O  could  I  worship  aught  beneath  the  skies 
That  earth  hath  seen,  or  fancy  could  devise, 
Thine  altar,  sacred  Liberty,  should  stand,  * 
Built  by  no  mercenary  vulgar  hand. 

With  fragrant  turf,  and  flowers  as  wild  and  fair, 
As  ever  dressed  a  bank,  or  scented  summer  air. 

2.  Duly,  as  ever  on  the  mountain's  height, 
The  peep  of  morning  shed  a  dawning  light  j 
Again,  when  evening  in  her  sober  vest 
Drew  the  grey  curtain  of  the  fading  west; 

My  soul  should  yield  thee  willing  thanks  and  praise, 

For  the  chief  blessings  of  my  fairest  days. 

But  that  were  sacrilege  :  praise  is  not  thine, 

But  hre  who  gave  thee,  and  preserves  thee  mine  : 

Else  I  would  say, — and,  as  I  spake,  bid  fly 

A  captive  bird  into  the  boundless  sky, — 

This  rising  realm  adores  thee  ;  thou  art  come 

From  Sparta  hither,  and  art  here  at  home: 

We  feel  thy  force  still  active ;  at  this  hour 

Enjoy  immunity  from  priestly  power ; 

While  conscience,  happier  than  in  ancient  years, 

Owns  no  superior  but  the  God  she  fears.  ^ 

3.  Propitious  Spirit!  yet  expunge  a  wrong, 
Tby  rights  have  suffered,  and  our  land,  too  long  ; 
Teach  mercy  to  ten  thousand  hearts  that  share 
The  fears  and  hopes  of  a  commercial  care: 
Prisons  expect  the  wicked,  and  were  built 

To  bind  the  lawless,  and  to  punish  guilt ; 

But  shipwreck,  earthquake,  battle,  fire,  and  flood, 

Are  mighty  mischiefs,  not  to  be  withstood  j 


184  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    II. 

And  honest  merit  standi;  on  slippery  ground, 

Where  covert  guile,  and  artifice  abound. 

Let  just  restraint,  for  public  piece  designed, 

Chain  up  the  wolves  and  tigers  of  mankind; 

The  foe  of  virtue  has  no  claim  to  theej — 

But  let  insolvent  innocence  go  free.  Cowper. 


SECTION    VII. 

^'.4//  things  are  of  Go(V^ 

1.  Tnou  art,  O  God,  the  life  and  light 
Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see; 
Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night, 

Are  but  reflections  caught  from  thee: 
Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories'shine, 
And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  thine. 

2.  When  day  with  farewell  beam  delays, 
Among  the  opening  clouds  of  even, 

And  we  can  almost  think  we  g;ize 

Through  opening  vistas  into  heaven  ; — 
Those  hues  tliat  make  the  sun's  decline 
So  soft,  so  radiant,  Lord,  are  thine. 

3.  When  night,  with  wings  of  starry  gloom, 
O'ershadows  all  the  earth  and  skies. 

Like  some  dark,  beauteous  bird,  whose  plume 

Is  sparkling  with  unnumber'd  eyes  ; — 
That  sacred  gloom,  those  fires  divine. 
So  grand,  so  countless,  Lord,  are  thine. 

4.  When  youthful  Sprins:  around  us  breathes. 
Thy  spirit  warms  her  fragrant  sigh  ; 

And  evVy  flower  that  summer  wreaths 
Is  born  beneath  thy  kmdling  eve: — 
Where'er  we  turn  thy  glories  shine, 
And  all  things  lair  and  bright  are  thine. 


Moore, 


SECTION    VIII. 

Tliehour  of  Prayer, 

1.  Child,  amidst  the  flowers  at  play. 
While  the  red  light  fades  away  ; — 
Mother,  with  thine  earnest  eye, 
Ever  foll'wing  silently ; 
Father,  by  the  breeze  of  eve. 


Chap.  III.  didactic  pieces.  185 

Called  thy  harvest  work  to  leave — 
Pray  !  Ere  yet  the  dark  liours  be, 
Lift  the  heart  and  bend  the  knee. 

2.  Traveler,  in  the  stranger's  land, 
Far  from  thine  own  household  band  j — 
Mourner  haunted  by  the  tone 

Of  a  voice  from  this  world  gone; — 
Captive,  in  whose  narrow  cell 
Sunshine  hath  not  leave  to  dwell — 
Sailor,  on  the  dark'ning  sea; — 
Lift  the  heart  and  bend  the  knee! 

3.  Warrior,  that  from  battle  won 
Breathest  now  at  set  of  suu  ; — 
Woman,  o'er  the  lowly  slain, 
Weeping  on  his  burial-plain  ; — 
Ye  that  triumph,  ye  that  sigh. 
Kindred  by  one  holy  tie  ! 
Heaven's  first  star  alike  ye  see — 
Lift  the  heart  and  bend  the  knee! 

SECTION    IX. 

Hope  tHumphant  in  death, 

1.  Unfading  Hope  !  when  life's  last  embers  burn, 
When  soul  to  soul,  and  dust  to  dust  return, 
Heav'n  to  thy  charge  resii^ns  the  awful  hour ! 

Oh  !  then  thy  kingdom  comes  !  Immortal  Power  ! 
What  thou2:h  each  spark  of  earth-born  rapture  riy 
The  quivering  lip,  pale  cheek,  and  closing  eye  ! 
Bright  to  the  soul  tliy  seraph  hands  convey 
The  morning  dream  of  life's  eternal  day: — 
Then,  then  the  triumph  of  the  trance  begin  ! 
And  all  thy  Phcenix  spirit  burns  within  ! 

2.  Oh  !  deep-enchanting  prelude  to  repose, 
The  dawn  of  bliss,  the  twiliijht  of  our  woes —  • 
Yet  half  I  hear  the  parting  spirit  sigh, 

It  is  a  dread  and  awful  thins:  to  die ! 
Mysterious  worlds,  untravel'd  by  the  sun  ! 
Where  Time's  far-wandVing  tide  has  never  run. 
From  your  unfaihom'd  shades,  and  viewless  spheres, 
A  warning  comes,  unheard  by  other  ears. 

3.  'Tis  Heaven's  commanding  trumpet  long  and  loud, 
Like  Sinai's  thunder,  pealing  from  the  cloud  ! 

While  Nature  hears  with  terror-mingled  trust, 


^ 


186  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   IL 

The  shock  that  hurls  her  fabric  to  the  dust ; 
And,  like  the  trembling  Hebrew  when  he  trod 
The  roaring  waves,  and  called  upon  his  Got], 
With  nnortal  terrors  clouds  immortal  bliss, 
And  shrieks,  and  hovers  o'er  the  dark  abyss ! 

4.  Daughter  of  Faith,  awake,  arise,  illume 
The  dread  unknown,  the  chaos  of  the  tomb  ! 
Melt  and  dispel,  ye  specter-doubts,  that  roll 
Cimmerian  darkness  on  the  parting  soul  I 
Fly,  like  the  moon-ey'd  herald  of  dismay, 
Chas'd  on  his  night-steed  by  the  star  of  day ! 
The  strife  is  o'er — The  pangs  of  Nature  close, 
And  life's  last  rapture  triumphs  o'er  her  woes. 

5.  Hark !  as  the  spirit  eyes,  with  eagle  gaze. 
The  noon  of  Heaven,  undazzled  by  the  blaze, 
On  Heavenly  winds  that  waft  her  to  the  sky, 
Float  the  sweet  tones  of  star-born  melody; 
Wild  as  that  hallowed  anthem  sent  to  hail 
Bethlehem's  shepherds  in  the  lonely  vale, 
When  .Jordan  hush'd  his  waves,  and  midnight  still 
Watch'd  on  the  holy  towers  of  Zion's  hill ! 

6.  Soul  of  the  just !  companion  of  the  dead  ! 

Where  is  thy  home,  and  whether  art  thou  tied? 

Back  to  its  heavenly  source  thy  being  goes, 

Swift  as  the  comet  wheels  to  whence  he  rose  ; 

Doom'd  on  his  airy  path  awhile  to  burn. 

And  doom'd,  like  thee,  to  travel,  and  return. — 

Hark  !  from  the  world's  exploding  centre  driven. 

With  sounds  that  shock  the  firmament  of  Heaven, 

Careers  the  fiery  giant,  fiist  and  far, 

On  bickering  wheels,  and  adamantine  car. 


7.  From  planet  whirl'd  to  planet  more  remote. 
He  visits  realms  beyond  the  reach  of  thought; 
But,  wheeling  homeward,  when  his  course  is  run, 
Curbs  the  red  yoke,  and  mingles  with  the  sun  ! — 
So  hath  the  traveler  of  earth  unfurFd 
Her  trembling  wings,  emerging  from  the  world  ; 
And,  o'er  the  path  by  mortal  never  trod, 
Sprung  to  her  source  the  bosom  of  her  God  I 

CamvhelL 


Chap.  III.  didactic  pieces.  187 

SECTION    X. 

Incentives  to  Devotion. 

1.  Lo  !  the  unletter'd  hind,  who  never  knew 
To  raise  his  mitul  excursive,  to  the  heights 
Of" abstract  coiitemphition,  as  he  sits 
On  the  green  hillock  by  the  hedge-row  side, 
What  time  the  insect  swarins  are  murmuring, 
And  marks,  in  silent  thought,  the  broken  clouds, 
That  fringe,  with  loveliest  hues,  the  evening  sky, 
Feels  in  his  soul  the  hand  of  nature  rouse 
The  thrill  of  gratitude,  to  him  who  formed 

The  goodly  prospect:  he  beholds  the  God 

ThronM  in  the  west ;  and  his  reposing  ear 

Hears  sounds  angelic  in  the  fitful  breeze 

That  floats  through  neighboring  copse  or  fairy  brake, 

Or  lingers,  playful,  on  the  haunted  stream. 

2.  Go  with  the  colter  to  his  winter  fire, 
When  o'er  the  moor  the  loud  blast  whistles  shrill, 
And  the  hoarse  ban-dog  bays  the  icy  moon  ; 
Mark  with  what  awe  he  lists  the  wild  uproar. 
Silent,  and  big  with  thought ;  and  hear  him  bless 
The  God  that  rides  on  the  tempestuous  clouds, 
For  his  snug  hearth,  and  all  his  little  joys. 

3.  Hear  him  compare  his  happier  lot,  with  his 
Who  bends  his  way  across  the  wintry  wolds, 

A  poor  night-traveler,  while  the  dismal  snow 
Beats  in  hi«;  face,  and  dubious  of  his  paths. 
He  stops,  and  thinks,  in  every  lengthening  blast, 
He  hears  some  village  mastiif 's  distant  howl. 
And  sees  far  streaming  some  lone  cottage  light; 
Then,  undeceived,  upturns  his  streaming  eyes, 
And  clasps  his  shivering  hands,  or  overpower'd, 
Sinks  on  the  frozen  s^round,  weighed  down  with  sleep 
From  which  the  hapless  wretch  shall  never  wake. 

4.  Thus  the  poor  rustic  warms  his  heart  with  praise 
And  glowing  gratitude:  he  turns  to  bless 

With  honest  warmth,  his  Maker  and  his  God. 
And  shall  it  e'er  be  said,  that  a  poor  hind, 
Nurs'd  in  the  lap  of  ignorance,  and  bred 
In  want  and  labor,  glows  with  noble  zeal 
To  laud  his  Maker'*  attributes,  while  he 
Whom  starry  silence  in  her  cradle  rocked, 


« 


188  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  IL 

And  Castalayenchastened  with  its  dews, 

Closes  his  eye  upon  the  holy  word, 

And,  blind  to  all  but  arrogance  and  pride, 

Dares  to  declare  his  infidelity. 

And  openly  contemn  the  Lord  of  Hosts  I  » 

5.  What  is  the  pomp  of  learning?  the  parade 
Of  letters  and  of  tongues  ?  Ev'en  as  the  mists 
Of  the  gray  morn  before  the  risino:  sun, 
That  pass  away  and  perish.     Earthly  things 
Are  but  the  transient  pageants  of  an  hour; 
And  earthly  pride  is  like  the  passing  flower, 
That  sprinsfs  to  fall,  and  blossoms  but  to  die. 

//.  K   White, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DEJiCRIPTlVE  PIECES. 

SECTION    I.  -  N 

The  Rainbow, 

1.  The  evening  was  glorious,  and  light  through  the  trees, 
Play'd  in  sunshine  the  rain-drops,  the  bu'ds,  and  the  breeze  : 
The  landscape  outstretching  in  loveliness  lay, 

On  the  lap  of  the  year,  in  the  beauty  of  May. 

For  the  bright  queen  of  spring,  as  she  pass'd  down  the  vale 

Left  her  robe  on  the  trees,  and  her  breath  on  the  gale  ; 

And  the  smile  of  her  promise  gave  joy  to  the  hours, 

And  fresh  in  her  footsteps  sprang  herbage  and  flowers. 

The  skies,  like  a  banner  in  sunset  unroU'd, 

O'er  the  west  threw  their  splendor  of  azure  and  gold  ; 

But  one  cloud  at  a  distance  rose  dense,  and  increas'd. 

Till  its  margin  of  black  touch'd  the  zenith  and  east. 

2.  We  gaz'd  on  these  scenes,  while  around  us  they  glow'd, 
When  a  vision  of  beauty  appeared  on  the  cloud; 

'Twas  not  like  the  sun,  as  at  mid-day  we  view, 

Nor  the  moon,  that  rolls  lightly  through  star-light  and  blue, 

Like  a  spirit  it  came  in  the  van  of  the  storm, 

And  the  eye  and  the  heart  hail'd  its  beautiful  form ; 

For  it  look'd  not  severe,  like  an  angel  of  wrath, 

But  its  garments  of  brightness  illunrd  its  dark  path. 

In  the  hues  of  its  grandeur  sublimely  it  stood, 

O'er  the  river,  the  village,  the  field,  and  the  wood; 

And  river,  field,  village,  and  woodland  grew  bright, 

As  conscious  they  gave  and  aflbrded  delight. 


Chap.  IV.  descriptive  pieces.  1S9 

3.  'Twas  the  bow  of  Omnipotence,  bent  in  his  hand, 
Whose  grasp  at  creation  the  universe  spann'd  ; 
'Twas  the  presence  of  God,  in  a  symbol  sublime, 

His  vow  from  the  flood  to  the  exile  of  time; — 
Not  dreadful,  as  when  in  a  whirlwind  he  pleads, 
When  storms  are  his  chariot,  and  lightning  his  steeds, — 
The  black  cloud  of  vengeance  his  banner  unfurl'd. 
And  thunder  his  voice  to  a  guilt-stricken  world, — 
In  the  breath  of  his  presence,  when  thousands  expire, 
And  seas  boil  with  fury,  and  rocks  burn  with  fire,  i| 

And  the  sword  and  the  plague-spot  with  death  strew  the  plain, 
And  vultures  and  wolves  are  the  graves  of  the  slain  : — 

4.  Not  such  was  that  rainbow,  that  beautiful  one  ! 
W^hose  arch  was  refraction,  its  key-stone — the  sun  j 
A  pavilion  it  seem'd  with  a  deity  graced, 

And  justice  and  mercy  met  there  and  embraced. 
Awhile,  and  it  sweetly  bent  over  the  gloom. 
Like  love  o'er  a  death-couch,  or  hope  o'er  the  tomb  ; 
Then  left  the  dark  scene,  whence  it  slowly  retired. 
As  love  has  just  vanished,  or  hope  had  expired. 

5    I  gazed  not  alone  on  that  source  of  my  song  ; 
To  all  who  beheld  it  these  verses  belong; 
Its  presence  to  all  was  the  path  of  the  Lord  I 
Each  full  heart  expanded,  grew  warm  and  adored. 
Like  a  visit — the  converse  of  friends — or  a  day. 
That  bow  from  my  sight  pass'd  forever  away ; 
Like  that  visit,  that  converse,  that  day,  to  my  heart, 
That  bow  from  remembrance  can  never  depart. 
'Tis  a  picture  in  mem'ry,  distinctly  defined, 
With  the  strong  and  imperishing  colors  of  mind: — 
A  part  of  my  being  beyond  my  control. 
Beheld  on  that  cloud,  and  transcribed  on  my  soul. 

Cam.pbelL 

SECTION   II. 

TVie  last  Days  of  Autumn. 
1.  Now  the  growing  year  is  over, 

And  the  shepherd's  tinkling  bell, 
Faintly  from  its  winter  cover, 

Rings  a  low  farewell: —       / 
Now  the  birds  of  Autumn  shiver 
Where  the  withered  beach-leaves  quiver, 
O'er  the  dark  and  lazy  river. 
In  the  rocky  dell. 


1 


190  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   IL 

2.  Now  the  mist  is  on  the  mountains, 
Redd'ning  in  the  rising  sun  ; 

Now  the  flowers  around  the  fountains 

Perish  one  by  one: 
Not  a  spire  of  grass  is  growing , 
But  the  leaves  that  late  were  glowing,- 
Now  its  blighted  green  are  strowing 

With  a  mantle  dun. 

3.  Now  the  torrent  brook  is  stealing 
Faintly  down  the  furrowed  glade — 

Not  as  when  in  winter  pealing, 
/  /  Such  a  din  it  made, 

That  tjie  sound  of  cataracts  falling 
Gave  no  echo  so  appalling, 
As  its  hoarse  and  heavy  brawling 
In  the  pine's  black  shade. 

4.  Darkly  blue  the  mist  is  hovering 
Round  the  clifted  rock's  bare  height 

All  the  bordering  mountains  covering 

With  a  dim  uncertain  light 
Now,  a  fresher  Vvrind  prevailing, 
W^ide  its  heavy  burden  sailing, 
Deepens  as  the  day  is  failing. 

Fast  the  gloom  of  night. 

5.  Slow  the  blood-stained  moon  is  rising 
Through  the  still  and  hazy  air, 

Like  a  sheeted  spectre  gliding 

In  a  torch's  glare  : 
Few  the  hours  her  light  is  given — 
Mingling  clouds  of  tempest  driven 
O'er  theniourning  face  of  heaven. 

All  is  blackness  there."  Percival 

SECTION  in. 

An  Evening  sketch. , 

'Tis  twilight  now. 
The  sovereign  sun  behind  his  western  hills 
In  glory  hath  declined.     The  mighty  clouds 
Kissed  by  his  warm  effulgence,  hang  around 
In  all  their  congregated  hues  of  pride, 
Like  pillars  of  some  tabernacle  grand, 
Worthy  his  glowing  presence  ;  while  the  sky, 
Uiumin'd  to  its  center,  glows  intense, 
Changing  his  sapphire  majesty  to  gold. 


Chap.  IV.  descriptive  pieces.  191 

2.  How  deep  is  the  tranquillity  !  the  trees 

Are  slumberini]^  through  their  multitude  of  boughs, 
Even  to  the  leaflet  on  the  frailest  twig  ! 
A  twilight  gloom  pervades  the  distant  hills  ; 
An  azure  softness  mingling  with  the  sky. 
Tlien  drags  the  lishman  to  the  yellow  shore 
His  laden  nets ;  and,  in  the  sheltering  cove, 
Behind  yon  rocky  point,  his  shajlop  moors, 
To^tempt  again  the  perilous  deep  at  dawn. 

3.  The  sea  is  waveless,  as  a  lake  ingulf  M 
'Mid  sheltering  hills, — without  a  ripple  spreads 
Its  bosom,  silent  and  immense, — the  hues 

Of  flickering  day  have  from  its  surface  died. 

Leaving  it  garb'd  in  sunless  majesty. 

With  bosoming  branches  round,  yon  village  hangs 

It  rows  of  lofty  elm  trees  ;  silently, 

Towering  in  spiral  wreaths  to  the  soft  sky, 

The  smoke  from  many  a  cheerful  hearth  ascends, 

Melting  in  ether. 

4.  As  I  gaze,  behold 
The  evening  star  illumines  the  blue  south, 
Twinkling  in  loveliness.     O  !  holy  star, 

Thou  bright  dispenser  of  the  twilight  dews, 
4  Thou  herald  of  Night's  glowing  galaxy, 
And  harbinger  of  social  bliss  ! — how  oft, 
Amid  the  twilights  of  departed  years, 
Resting  beside  the  river's  mirror  clear. 
On  trunk  of  massy  oak,  with  eyes  upturned 
To  thee  in  admiration,  have  I  sat, 
Dreaming  sweet  dreams  till  earth-born  turbulene 
Was  all  forgot;  and  thinking  that  in  thee. 
Far  from  the  rudeness  of  this  jarring  world. 
There  might  be  realms  of  quiet  happiness  1 

SECTION    IV. 

Niagara  Falls. 

1  Tremendous  torrent !  for  an  instant  hush 
The  terrors  of  thy  voice,  and  cast  aside 
Those  wide-involving  shadows,  that  my  eyes 
May  see  the  fearful  beauty  of  thy  face — 
I  am  not  all  unworthy  of  thy  sight ; 
For,  from  my  very  boyhood,  have  I  loved — 
Shunning  the  meaner  track  of  common  minds — 
Tcjook  on  nature  in  her  loftier  moods. 


192  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  II. 

2.  At  the  fierce  rushinor  of  the  hurricane — 
At  the  near  bursting  of  the  thunderbolt — 

I  have  been  touched  with  joy  ;  and,  when  the  sea. 

Lashed  by  the  wind,  hath  rocked  my  bark,  and  showed 

Its  yawning  caves  beneath  me,  I  have  loved 

Its  dangers  and  the  wrath  of  elements. 

But  never  yet  the  madness  of  the  sea 

Hath  moved  me,  as  thy  grandeur  moves  me  now. 

3.  Thou  flowest  on  in  quiet,  till  thy  waves 
Grow  broken  'midst  the  rocks ;  thy  current  then 
Shoots  onward,  like  the  irresistible  course 

Of  destiny.     Ah !  terrible  thy  rage  1 
The  hoarse  and  rapid  whirlpools  there !  My  brain 
Grows  wild,  my  senses  wander,  as  I  gaze 
Upon  the  hurrying  waters;  and  my  sight 
Vainly  would  follow,  as  toward  the  verge 
Sweeps  the  wide  torrent — Avaves  innumerable 
Meet  there  and  madden — waves  innumerable 
Urge  on  and  overtake  the  waves  before, 
And  disappear  in  thunder  and  in  foam. 

4.  They  reach — they  leap  the  barrier:  the  abyss 
Swallows,  insatiable,  the  sinking  waves. 

A  thousand  rainbows  arch  them,  an,d  the  woods 

Are  deafened  with  the  roar.     The  violent  shock 

Shatters  to  vapor  the  descending  sheets  ; 

A  cloudy  whirlwind  fills  the  gulf,  and  heaves 

The  mighty  pyramid  of  circling  mist 

To  heaven.     The  solitary  hunter,  near, 

Pauses  with  terror  in  the  forest  shades. 

i  5.  God  of  all  truth  !  in  other  lands  I've  seen 
Lying  philosophers,  blaspheming  men, 
(Questioners  of  thy  mysteries,  that  draw 
Their  fellows  deep  into  impiety; 
And  therefore  doth  my  spirit  seek  thy  face 
In  earth's  majestic  solitudes.     Even  here 
My  heart  doth  open  all  itself  to  thee. 
In  this  immensity  of  loneliness 
I  feel  thy  hand  upon  me.     To  my  ear 
The  eternal  thunder  of  the  cataract  brings 
Thy  voice,  and  I  am  humbled  as  I  hear. 

6.  Dread  torrent  I  that  with  wonder  and  with  fear 
Dost  overwhelm  the  soul  of  him  that  looks 
Upon  thee,  and  dost  bear  it  from  hself — 
Whence  hast  thou  thy  beginning?     Who  supplies 
Age  after  age^  thy  unexhausted  springs? 


CnAP.  IV.  DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES.  193 

What  power  hath  ordered,  that,  when  all  thy  weight 
Descends  into  the  deep,  the  swollen  waves 
Rise  notj  and  roll  to  overwhelra  the  earth? 

7.  The  Lord  hath  opened  his  omnipotent  hand, 
Covered  thy  face  with  clouds,  and  given  his  voice 

•     To  thy  down-rushing  waters  ;  he  hath  girt 
Thy  terrible  forehead  with  his  radiant  bow. 
I  see  thy  never-resting  waters  run, 
And  I  bethink  me  how  the  tide  of  time 
Sweeps  to  eternity.     So  pass  off  man — 
Pass — like  a  noon-day  dream — the  blossoming  days, 
And  he  awakes  to  sorrow.        ♦        *        * 

8.  Hear,  dread  Niagara!  my  latest  voice. 
Yet  a  few  years,  and  the  cold  earth  shall  close 
Over  the  bones  of  him  who  sings  thee  now 

Thus  feelingly.     Would  that  this,  my  humble  verse, 
Might  be,  like  thee,  immortal.     I,  meanwhile, 
Cheerfully  passing  to  the  appointed  rest, 
Might  rise  my  radiant  forehead  in  the  clouds, 
To  listen  to  the  echoes  of  my  fame. 

SECTION   V. 

Hohenlinden, 

1.  OiN  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  th'  untrodden  snow, 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 

Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

2.  But  Linden  saw  another  sight. 
When  the  drum  beat  at  dead  of  night, 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

3.  By  torch  and  trumpef  fast  array'd. 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle  blade, 
And  furious  every  charger  neigh'd. 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

4.  Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven. 
Then  rush'd  the  steed  to  battle  driven. 

And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  heaven, 
Far  flash'd  the  red  artillery. 

5.  And  redder  yet  those  fires  shall  glow, 
On  Linden's  hills  of  blood-stained  snow. 
And  darker  yet  shall  be  the  flow 

Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 
13 


Part  IL 

6    'Tis  morn^  but  scarce  yon  larid  sim 
Can  pierce  llie  war-clouds,  rollmi^  dun, 
Wi^ere  furious  Frank,  and  fiery  Hun, 
»3liout  m  cneir  sulphurous  cdnopy. 

The  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  brave, 
Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave ! 
Wave,  Munich,  all  thy  banners  wave  ! 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry ! 

8.  Ah !  few  shall  part  where  many  meet, 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding  sheet. 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet, 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulcher.  Campbell, 

SECTION  vr. 
Summer  Morning, 

1.  Sweet  the  beams  of  rosy  morning, 
Silent  chasing  gloom  away  ; 

Lovely  tints  the  sky  adorning,  , 

Harbingers  of  opening  day! 
See  the  king  of  day  appearing, 

Slow  his  progres^s  and  serene  ; 
Soon  I  feel  the  influence,  cheering, 

Of  this  grand  and  lovely  scene! 

2.  Lovely  songsters  join  their  voices, 
Harmony  the  grove  pervades  ; 

All  in  nature  now  rejoices. 

Light  and  joy  succeed  the  shades. 

Stars  withdraw,  and  man  arises, 
To  his  labor  cheerful  goes  ; 

Day's  return hig  blessings  prizes. 
And  in  praise  his  pleasure  shows ! 

3.  May  each  morn  that  in  succession, 
Adds  new  mercies  ever  flowing, 

Leave  a  strong  and  deep  impression 

Of  my  debt,  for  ever  growing  ! 
Debt  of  love,  ah  !  how  increasing  ! 

Days  and  years  fresh  blessings  bring, 
But  rny  praise  shall  flow  unceasing, 

And  my  Maker's  love  I'll  sing ! 

SECTION   VII, 

The  envious  Man. 
1.  Much  was  removed  that  tem})ted  once  to  s\\\ 
Ayarice  no  gold,  no  wine  the  drunkard  saw 


Chap.  IV.  descriptive  pifces.  195 

But  envy  had  enough,  as  heretofore, 
To  fill  his  heart  with  gall  and  bitterness., 
What  made  the  n^an  of  envy  what  he  was, 
Was  worth  in  others,  vileness  in  himself, 
A  lust  of  praise,  with  undeserving  deeds, 
And  conscious  poverty  of  soul :  and  still 
It  was  his  earnest  work  and  daily  toil 
With  lyin^  tongue,  to  make  the  noble  seem 
Mean  as  himself. 

2.  On  fame's  high  hill  he  saw 
The  laurel  spread  its  everlasting  green, 

And  wished  to  climb ;  but  felt  his  knees  too  weak; 

And  stood  below  unhappy,  laying  hands 

Upon  the  strong  ascending  gloriously 

The  steps  of  honor,  bent  to  draw  them  back; 

Involving  oft  the  brightness  of  their  path 

In  mists  his  breath  had  raised. 

3.  Whene'er  be  heard, 
As  oft  he  did,  of  joy  and  happiness. 

And  great  prosperity,  aiyl  rising  worth, 
'Twas  like  a  wave  of  wormwood  o'er  his  soul 
Rolling  its  bitterness.     His  joy  was  wo — 
The  wo  of  others  :  when  from  wealth  to  want, 
From  praises  to  reproach,  froni  peace  to  strife, 
From  mirth  to  tears,  he  saw  a  brother  fall. 
Or  virtue  make  a  slip — his  dreams  were  sweet. 

4.  But  chief  with  slander,  daughter  of  his  own 
He  took  unhallowed  pleasure ;  v/hen  she  talked, 
And  with  her  filthy  lips  defiled  the  best, 

His  ear  drew  near  ;  with  wide  attention  gaped 
His  mouth  ;  his  eye,  well  pleased,  as  eager  gazed 
As  glutton  when  the  dish  he  most  desired 
Was  placed  before  him  ;  and  a  horrid  mirth, 
At  intervals,  with  laughter  shook  his  sides. 

Pollok. 

SECTION   VIII. 

Cheerfulness, 

1.  Fair  p.s  the  dawning  light !  auspicious  guest! 
Source  o'  -.11  comfort  to  the  human  breast ! 
Deprived  of  thee,  in  sad  despair  we  moan. 
And  tedious  roil  the  heavy  moments  on. 
Thoufrh  beauteous  objects  all  arour:d  us  rise, 
To  charm  the  fancy  and  delight  the  eyes  ; 


196  NEW    ENGLISH   READER.  PaUT  H. 

# 

Tho'  art^s  fair  works  and  nature's  gifts  conspire 
To  please «each  sense,  and  satiate  each  desire, — 
'Tis  joyless  all,  till  thy  enliv'ning  ray 
Scatters  the  melancholy  gloom  away, 
Then  opens  to  the  soul  a  heavenly  scene, 
Gladness  and  peace,  all  sprightly,  all  serene. 

2.  Where  dost  thou  deign,  say,  in  what  blest  retreat, 
To  choose  thy  mansion,  and  to  fix  thy  seat  ? 

Thy  sacred  presence  how  shall  we  explore  ? 
Can  avarice  gain  thee  with  her  golden  store  ? 
Can  vain  ambition  with  her  boasted  charms, 
Tempt  thee  with  her  wide  extended  arms? 
No,  with  Content  alone  canst  thou  abide, 
Thy  sister,  ever  smiling  by  thy  side. 

3.  When  boon  companions,  void  of  ev'ry  care, 
Crown  the  full  bowl,  and  the  rich  banquet  share, 
And  give  a  loose  to  pleasure — art  thou  there  ? 
Or  when  the  assembled  great  and  fair  advance 
To  celebrate  the  mask,  the  play,  the  dance, — 
While  beauty  spreads  its  sweetest  charms  around, 
And  airs  ecstatic  swell  their  tuneful  sound. 

Art  thou  within  the  pompous  circle  found? 
Does  not  thy  influence  more  sedately  shine  ? 
Can  such  tumultuous  joys  as  these  be  thine? 

4.  Surely  more  mild,  more  constant  in  their  course, 
Thy  pleasures  issue  from  a  nobler  source, —  ^ 
From  sweet  discretion  ruling  in  the  breast. 

From  passions  tempered,  and  from  lusts  represt ; 
From  thoughts  unconscious  of  a  guilty  smart, 
And  the  calm  transports  of  an  honest  heart. 

5.  Thy  aid,  O  ever  faithful,  ever  kind  ! 

Through  life,  through  death,  attends  the  virtuous  mind; 

Of  angry  fate  wards  from  us  ev'ry  blow, 

Cures  ev'ry  ill,  and  softens  ev'ry  wo. 

Whatever  good  our  mortal  state  desires. 

What  wisdom  finds,  or  innocence  inspires ; 

From  nature's  bounteous  hand  whatever  flows, 

Whate'er  our  Maker's  providence  bestows, — 

By  thee  mankind  enjoys, — by  thee  repays 

A  grateful  tribute  of  perpetual  praise.  FitzgeralcL 


Chap.  IV.  descriptive  pieces.  197 

SECTION    IX. 

Night  before  the  Battle  of  Waterloo, 

1.  There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 
And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered  then 
Her  beauty  and  her  chivalry,  and  bright 

Tlie  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men; 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily  ;  and  when 
Music  aiose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 
Soft  eves  looked  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage-beii — 

2.  But  hush  !  hark !  a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising 

knell- 
Did  ye  not  hear  it  ? — No ;  'twas  but  the  wind, 
Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street ; 
On  v/ith  the  dance  I  let  joy  be  unconfined  ; 
No  sleep  till  morn,  when  youth  and  pleasure  meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet — 
But,  hark  ! — that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 
As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat ; 
And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before  ! 
Arm  !  Arm !  it  is — it  is — the  cannon's  onening  roar ! 

3.  Within  a  windowed  niche  of  that  high  hall 
Sat  Brunswick's  fated  chieftain  ;  he  did  Lear 
That  sound  the  first  amidst  the  festival, 

And  caught  its  tone  with  Death's  prophetic  ear, 
And  when  they  smiled  because  he  deem'd  it  near, 
His  heart  more  truly  knew  that  peal  too  well. 
Which  stretch'd  his  father  on  a  bloody  bier, 
And  roused  the  vengeance  blood  alone  could  quell' 
He  rushed  into  the  field,  and,  foremost  fighting,  fell 

i.  Ah  !  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro 
And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress. 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an  hour  ago 
Blush'd  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness; 
And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 
The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs 
Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated  ;  who  could  guess 
If  ever  more  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes. 
Since,  upon  nights  so  sweet,  such  awful  morn  could  rise? 

5.  And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste;  the  steed 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car. 


198  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   II. 

Went  pouring  forward  -with  impetuous  speed, 
And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war; 
And  tlie  deep  tliunder,  peal  on  peal  afarj 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum 
Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star ; 
"While  throng'd  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb, 
Or  whispering  with  white  lips — "  The  foe  !  They  come  ! 
they  come  !" 

6.  And  wild  and  high  the  "  Cameron's  gathering"  rose  ! 
The  war  note  of  Lochiel,  which  Albyn's  hills 

Have  heard — and  heard,  too,  have  her  Saxon  foes. — 
How  in  the  noon  of  night  that  pibroch  thrills. 
Savage  and  shrill  1     But  with  the  breath  which  fills 
Their  mountain-pipe,  so  fill  the  mountaineers 
With  the  fierce  native  daring  which  instills 
-  The  stirring  memory  of  a  thousand  years  ; 

And  Evan's,  Donald's  fame  rings  in  each  clansman's  ears  I 

7.  And  Ardennes  waves  above  them  ner  green  leaves, 
Dewy  with  nature's  tear  drops  as  they  pass, 
Grieving,  if  aught  inanimate  e'er  grieves. 

Over  the  unreturning  brave, — alas  ! 

Ere  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  grass 

Which  now  beneath  them,  but  above  shall  grow 

In  its  next  verdure,  when  this  fiery  mass 

Of  living  valour,  rolling  on  the  foe, 

And  burning  with  high  hope,  shall  moulder  cold  and  low 

8.  Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life, 
Last  eve  in  beauty's  circle  proudly  gay, 

The  midnight  brought  the  signal-sound  of  strife 
The  morn,  the  marshaling  in  arms, — the  day, 
Battle's  magnificently  stern  array  ! 
The  thunder-cloudfc  close  o'er  it^  which,  when  rent, 
The  earth  is  cover'd  with  other  clay, 
Whica  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heaped  and  pent, 
Rider  and  horse — friend,  foe — in  one  red  burial  blent ! 

Byron, 


CHAPTER  V. 

PATHETIC  PIECES. 
SECTION    I. 

Lines  written  by  one  who  had  long  been  a  resident  in  India 
on  his  retinm  to  his  native  country, 
^.  I  CAME,  but  they  had  passed  away — 
The  fair  in  form,  the  pure  in  mindj— 


J,  PATHETIC    PIECES.  199 

And,  like  a  stricken  deer,  I  stray 

Where  all  are  strange,  and  none  are  kind — 
Kind  to  the  worm,  the  wearied  soul, 

That  pants,  that  struggles  for  repose: 

0  that  my  steps  had  reached  the  goal 
Where  earthly  sighs  and  sorrows  close  ! 

2.  Years  have  passed  o'er  me,  like  a  dream 
That  leaves  no  trace  on  memory's  page  : 

1  look  around  me,  and  I  seem 

Some  relic  of  a  former  age. 
Alone,  as  in  a  stranger  clime. 

Where  stranger  voices  mock  my  ear, 
I  mark  the  lagging  course  of  time, 

Without  a  wish — a  hope — a  fear! 

3.  Yet  I  had  hopes — and  they  have  fled  ; 
And  fears — and  they  were  all  too  tru«  ; 

My  wishes  too — but  they  are  dead ; 

And  what  have  I  with  life  to  do? 
Tis  but  to  wear  a  weary  load 

I  may  not,  dare  not,  cast  away ; 
To  sigh  for  one  small,  still  abode, 

Where  I  may  sleep  as  sweet  as  they ; 

4.  As  they  the  loveliest  of  their  race. 
Whose  grassy  tombs  my  sorrows  steep, 

Whose^ worth  my  soul  delights  to  trace, 
Whose  very  loss  'tis  sweet  to  weep, — 

To  weep  beneath  the  silent  moon 
With  none  to  chide,  to  hear,  to  see  : 

Life  can  bestow  no  greater  boon 

On  one  whom  death  disdains  to  free. 

5.  I  leave  the  world  that  knows  me  not^ 
To  hold  communion  with  the  dead; 

And  fancy  consecrates  the  spot 

Where  fancy's  softest  dreams  are  shed. 

I  see  each  shade — all  silvery  white— 
I  hear  each  spirit's  melting  sigh ; 

I  turn  to  clasp  those  forms  of  light, — 
And  the  pale  morning  chills  my  eye. 

6.  But  soon  the  last  dim  morn  shall  rise,— 
The  lamp  of  life  burns  feebly  now, — 

When  stranger  hands  shall  close  my  eyes, 
And  smooth  my  cold  and  dewy  brow. 

Unknown  I  lived ;  so  let  me  die : 
Nor  stone,  nor  monumental  cross, 


2^  NE7V    ENGLISH   READER.  pART   IL 

Tell  where  his  nameless  ashes  lie, 
Who  sit^hed  for  i?oid,  and  found  it  dross. 


SECTION    II. 

The  Winter  Night. 

1.  Now  PhcEhe,  in  her  midnight  reign, 
Dark  muffled,  viewed  the  dreary  plain, 

While  crowding  thoughts,  a  pensive  train, 

Rose  in  my  soul, — 
When  on  my  ear  this  plaintive  strain, 
Slow,  solemn,  stole  ; — 

2.  "Blow,  blow,  ye  winds,  with  heavier  gust! 
And  freeze,  thou  bitter,  biting  frost! 
Desceivd,  ye  chilly,  smothering  snows  ! 
Not  all  your  rage,  as  now  united,  shows 

More  hard  unkindness,  unrelenting 
Vengeful  malice,  unrepenting. 
Than  heaven-illumin'd  man  on  brother  man  bestows. 

3.  See  stern  oppression's  iron  grip, 
Or  mad  ambition's  gory  hand. 

Sending,  like  blood-hounds  from  the  slip, 
Wo,  want,  and  murder  o'er  a  land  1  - 

4.  Even  in  the  peaceful  rural  vale, 
Truth,  weeping,  tells  the  mournful  tale, 

How  pampered  luxury, — flattery  by  her  side. 
The  parasite  empoisoning  her  ear. 
With  all  the  servile  wretches  in  the  rear, — 

Looks  o'er  proud  property,  extended  wide, 
And  eyes  the  simple  rustic  hind. 
Whose  toil  upholds  the  glittering  show, — 
A  creature  of  another  kind. 
Some  coarser  substance,  unrefined. 

Placed  for  her  lordly  use  thus  far,  thus  vile,  below, 

5.  Where,  where  is  love's  fond,  tender  throe. 
With  lordly  honor's  lofty  brow, 

The  powers  you  proudly  own  ? 
Is  there,  beneath  love's  noble  name, 
Can  harbor,  dark,  the  selfish  aim, 

To  bless  himself  alone? 

6.  O  ye !  who,  sunk  m  beds  of  down, 

Feel  not  a  want  but  what  yourselves  create 


Chap.  V.  pathetic  pieces.  201 

Thiniv  for  a  moment  on  his  wretched  fate 
Whom  friends  and  fortune  quite  disown  ! 

HI  satisfied  keen  nature's  clamorous  call, 

Sti  tched  on  his  straw  he  lays  himself  to  sleep. 
While  through  the  ragged  roof  and  chiniiy  wall, 

Chill,  o'er  his  slumbers,  piles  the  drifty  heap: — 

7.  Think  on  the  dungeon's  grim  confine, 
Where  guilt  and  poor  misfortune  pine  I 
Guilt,  erring  man  relenting  view  ! — 
But  shall  thy  legal  rage  pursue 

The  wretch,' already  crushed  low 
By  cruel  fortune's  undeserved  blow  ? 
Affliction's  sons  are  brothers  in  distress, 
A  brother  to  relieve  how  exquisite  the  bliss  !" 

8.  I  heard  no  more ;  for  Chanticleer 
Shook  off  the  powdery  snow, 

And  hailed  the  morning  with  a  cheer, 

A  cottage  rousing  crow. 
But  deep  this  truth  impressed  my  mind — 

Through  all  his  works  abroad. 
The  heart  benevolent  and  kind 
The  most  resembles  God.  Bums* 

SECTION  iir. 

The  Cotter'* s  Saturday  Night,  or  a  Scottish  PeasanVs  Fa- 
mily Devotion, 

1.  The  frugal  supper  done,  with  cheerful  face, 
They  round  the  fireside  form  a  circle  Avide; 

The  sire  turns  o'er  with  patriarchal  grace, 
Tlie  sacred  Bible  once  his  father's  pride : 

His  bonnet  rev'renily  is  laid  aside. 

His  hoary  locks  displaying,  thin  and  bare, 

Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 
He  seeks  a  portion  with  judicious  care  ; 

And  "Let  us  worship  God,"  he  says  with  solemn  air. 

2.  They  chant  their  artless  notes  in  simple  guise ; 
They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  noblest  aim: 

Perhaps  Dundee's  wild  warbling  measures  rise, 
Or  plaintive  Martyrs,  worthy  of  the  name; 

Or  noble  Elgin  beats  the  heav'nward  flame, 
The  sweetest  far  of  Scotia's  holy  lays  : 

Compar'd  with  these,  Italian  trills  are  tame, 


202  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  pART   III, 

The  tickled  ears  no  heart-felt  raptures  raise, 
Nor  unison  have  they  with  our  Creator's  praise. 

3.  The  priest-like  father  reads  the  sacred  page, 
How  Abra'm  was  the  friend  of  God  on  high ; 

Or,  Moses  bade  eternal  warfare  wage 

With  Amalek's  ungracious  progeny  ; 
Or,  how  the  royal  bard  did  groaning  lie 

Beneath  the  stroke  of  Heaven's  avenging  ire; 
Or,  Job's  pathetic  plaint,  and  wailing  cry  ; 

Or,  rapt  Isaiah's  wild  seraphic  fire ; 
Or  other  holy  seers  that  tune  the  sacred  lyre. 

4.  Perhaps  the  Christian  volume  is  the  theme, 
How  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  man  was  shed ; 

How  He,  who  bore  in  heav'n  the  second  name, 
Had  not  on  earth  whereon  to  lay  his  head: 

How  his  first  followers  and  servants  sped  ; 

The  precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many  a  land : 

How  he,  who  lone  in  Patmos  banished. 
Saw  in  the  sun  a  mighty  angel  stand  ; 

And  heard  great  Babylon's  doom  pronounced  by  Heaven's 
command. 

5.  Then  kneeling  down  to  Heaven's  eternal  King, 
The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays: 

Hope  "  springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing," 
That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  in  future  days; 

There,  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays, 

No  more  to  sigh,  or  shed  the  bitter  tear; 

Together  hymning  their  Creator's  praise. 
In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear, 

While  circling  time  moves  round  in  an  eternal  sphere, 

6.  Compar'd  with  this,  how  poor  religion's  pride, 
In  all  the  pomp  of  method,  and  of  art, 

When  men  display  to  congregations  wide, 

Devotion's  ev'ry  grace,  except  the  heart ! 
The  pow'r  incens'd  the  pageant  will  desert. 

The  pompous  strain,  the  sacerdotal  stole ; 
But  haply,  in  some  cottage  far  apart, 

May  hear,  well  pleased,  the  language  of  the  soul ; 
And  in  his  book  of  life  the  inmates  poor  enroll. 

7.  From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs, 
That  makes  her  loved  at  home,  revered  abroad ; 

Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings, 

^  An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God ;" 
And  certain,  in  fair  virtue's  heav'nly  road, 


Chap.  V.  pathetic  pieces.  203 

The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind ; 
What  is  a  lordling's  pomp?,  a  cumbrous  load, 

Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  human-kind, 
Studied  in  arts  most  vile,  in  wickedness  refin'd !    Burns 


SECTION    IV. 

Hie  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore. 

1.  Not  a  drum  was  heard,  nor  a  funeral  note, 
As  his  corse  o'er  the  rampart  we  hurried ; 

Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot, 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

2.  We  buried  him  darkly,  at  dead  of  night, 
The  sod  with  our  bayonets  turning, 

By  the  trembling  moon-beams'  misty  light, 
And  our  lantern  dimly  burning. 

3.  No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast, 

Nor  in  sheet,  nor  in  shroud  we  bound  him ; 
But  he  lay — like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest. 
His  martial  cloak  wrapt  around  him. 

4.  Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said. 
And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow  ; 

But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  of  the  dead, 
And  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

5.  We  thought,  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow  bed. 
And  smoothM  down  his  lowly  pillow, 

That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er  his  head, 
And  we,  far  away  o'er  the  billow. 

6.  Lightly  they'll  speak  of  the  spirit  that's  gone. 
And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him ; 

But  little  he'll  reck  if  they  let  him  sleep  on, 

In  the  grave  where  his  comrades  have  laid  him. 

7.  Not  the  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done, 
When  the  bell  tolPd  the  hour  for  retiring  ; 

And  we  heard,  too,  the  distant  random  gun, 
That  the  foe  was  then  suddenly  firing. 

8.  Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down. 
From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory ; 

We  carv'd  not  a  line,  we  rais'd  not  a  stone, 
But  we  left  him  alone — with  his  glory.  Wolfe, 


201  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   IL 

SECTION    V. 

"Earth  to  Earth,  and  Dust  to  Dust:^ 

"  Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust!" 
Here  the  evil  and  the  just, 
Here  the  youthful  and  the  old, 
Here  the  fearful  and  the  bold, 
Here  the  matron  and  the  maid 
In  one  silent  bed  are  laid  ; 
Here  the  vassal  and  the  king 
Side  by  side  lie  withering; 
Here  the  sword  and  sceptre  rust — 
"Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust," 

2.  Age  on  age  shall  roll  along 
O'er  this  pale  and  mighty  throng; 
Those  that  wept  them,  those  that  weep, 
All  shall  with  these  sleepers  sleep. 
Brothers,  sisters  of  the  worm, 
Summer's  sun  or  winter's  storm, 
Song  of  peace  or  battle's  roar, 

^  Ne'er  shall  break  their  slumbers  nvore: 

,  Death  shall  keep  his  sullen  trust — 

"  Earth  to  earth,  and  duist  to  dust !" 

3.  But  a  day  is  coming  fast. 
Earth,  thy  mightiest  and  thy  last ! 
It  shall  come  in  fear  and  wonder, 
Heralded  with  trump  and  thunder ; 
It  shall  come  in  strife  and  toil ; 

It  shall  come  in  blood  and  spoil; 
It  shall  come  in  empire's  groans. 
Burning  temples,  trampled  thrones: 
Then,  ambition,  rue  thy  lust ! — 
*' Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust !" 

4.  Then  shall  come  the  judgment  siga-, 
In  the  East  the  King  shall  shine, 
Flashing  from  heaven's  golden  gate, 
Thousand  thousands  round  his  state, 
Spirits  with  the  crown  and  plume ; — 
Tremble  then,  thou  sullen  tomb  1 
Heaven  shall  open  on  our  sight. 

Earth  be  turned  to  living  light — 
Kingdom  of  the  ransomed  just — 
"  Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust  I" 


Chap.  VL  promiscuous  pieces.  205 

5.  Then  thy  mount,  Jerusalem, 
Shall  be  ^^orgeous  as  a  gem ; 
Then  shall  in  the  desert  rise 
Fruits  of  more  than  paradise, 
Earth  by  angel  leet  be  trod, 
One  great  garden  of  her  God 
Till  are  dried  the  martyr's  tears, 
'Tlirough  a  thousand  glorious  years  ? 
Now  in  hope  of  Him  we  trust. — 
"Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust."  Croly 


CHAPTER   VI. 

PROMISCUOUS  PIECES. 
SECTION   I. 

T7ie  Rose  of  the  Wilderness, 

1.  At  the  silence  of  twilight's  contemplative  hour, 
I  have  mus'd  in  a  sorrowful  mood. 

On  the  wind  shaken  weeds  that  embosom  the  bower, 
Where  the  home  of  my  forefathers  stood. 

All  ruined  and  wild  is  their  rootless  abode, 
And  lonely  the  dark  raven's  sheltering  tree  ; 

And  travel'd  by  few  is  the  grass-covered  road. 

Where  the  hunter  of  deer  and  the  warrior  trode, 
To  his  hills  that  encircle  the  sea. 

2.  Yet  wand'ring,  I  found  on  my  ruinous  walk. 
By  the  dial  stone  aged  and  green, 

One  rose  of  the  wilderness  left  on  its  stalk. 

To  mark  where  a  garden  had  been. 
Like  a  brotherless  hermit,  the  last  of  its  race. 

All  wild  iu  the  silence  of  Nature,  it  drew. 
From  each  wandering  sun-beam  a  lonely  embrace, 
For  the  night-weed  and  thorn  overshadowed  the  place, 

Where  the  flower  of  my  forefathers  grew. 

3.  Sweet  bud  of  the  wilderness  !  emblem  of  all 
That  remains  in  this  desolate  hear«>! 

The  fabric  of  bliss  to  its  center  may  fall ; 

But  patience  shall  never  depart  I 
Though  the  wilds  of  enchantment,  all  vernal  and  bright, 

In  the  days  of  delusion  by  fancy  combin'd, 
With  the  vanishing  phantom^:  of  love  and  delight, 
Abandon  my  soul  like  a  dream  of  the  night, 

And  leave  but  a  desert  behind. 


206  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   IL 

4.  Be  hush'd  my  dark  spirit !  for  wisdom  condemns 

When  the  faint  and  the  feeble  deplore ; 
Be  strong  as  the  rock  of  the  ocean  that  stems 

A  thousand  wild  waves  on  the  shore! 
Through  the  perils  of  chance,  and  the  scowl  of  disdain, 

May  thy  front  be  unalter'd,  thy  courage  elate ; 
Yea !  even  the  name  I  have  worshipp'd  in  vain, 
Shall  awake  not  the  sigh  of  remembrance  again ; 

To  bear  is  to  conquer  our  fate.  Campbell, 

SECTION   II. 

Apostrophe  to  Mount  Parnassus, 

1.  O  THOU  Parnassus  !  whom  I  now  survey, 
Not  in  the  phrensy  of  a  dreamer's  eye, 

Not  in  the  fabled  landscape  of  a  lay, 
But  soaring,  snow-clad,  through  thy  native  sky, 
In  the  wild  pomp  of  mountain  majesty  ! 

What  marvel  that  I  thus  essay  to  sing  ? 
The  humblest  of  thy  pilgrims,  pasL.ng  by, 

Would  gladly  woo  thine  Echoes  with  his  string. 
Though  from  thy  heights  no  more  one  Muse  shall  wave  her 
wing 

2.  Oft  have  I  dreamed  of  thee ! — wnose  glorious  name 
Who  knows  not,  knows  not  man's  divinest  lore; — 

And  now  I  view  thee,  'tis,  alas !  with  shame 
That  I,  in  feeblest  accents,  must  adore. 
W^hen  I  recount  thy  worshippers  of  yore, 

I  tremble,  and  can  only  bend  the  knee  ; 

Nor  raise  my  voice,  nor  vainly  dare  to  soar, 

But  gaze  beneath  thy  cloudy  canopy 
In  silent  joy,  to  think  at  last  I  look  on  thee ! 

3.  Happier  in  this  than  mightiest  bards  have  been, 
Whose  fate  to  distant  homes  confined  their  lot, 

Shall  T,  unmoved,  behold  the  hallowed  scene 
Which  others  rave  of,  though  they  know  it  not? 
Though  here  no  more  Apollo  haunts  his  grot, 
And  thou,  th(**  Muses'  seat,  art  now  their  grave, 

Some  gentle  spirit  still  pervades  the  spot, 
Sighs  in  the  gale,  keeps  silence  in  the  cave, 
Or  glides,  with  glassy  foot,  o'er  yon  melodious  wave. 

Byron, 


Chap.  VI.  promiscuous  pieces.  207 

SECTION    III, 

Tlie-  Ocean, 

1.  There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods, 
There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore, 

There  is  society,  where  none  intrudes, 
By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar : 
I  love  not  Man  the  less,  but  Nature  more, 
From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 
From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before. 
To  mingle  with  the  Universe,  and  feel,  ^ 
What  I  can  ne'er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal. 

2.  Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean — roll ! 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vainj 

Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin — his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore  ; — upon  thy  watery  plain 
Tha  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage  save  his  own. 
When,  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain. 
He  sinks  into  thy  depth  with  bubbling  groan, 
Without  a  grave,  unknell'd,  uncoffin'd,  and  unknown. 

3.  The  armaments  which  thunderstrike  the  walls 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake. 

And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals, — 
The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 
Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 
Of  lord  of  thee,  and  arbiter  of  war, — 
These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the  snowy  flake, 
They  melt  into  the  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar 
Alike  th'  Armada's  pride,  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar. 

4.  Thy  shores  are  empires,  changed  in  all  save  thee ; 
Assyria,  Greece,  Rome,  Carthage,  what  are  they? 
Thy  waters  wasted  them  while  they  were  free, 

And  many  a  tyrant  since  ;  their  shores  obey 
The  stranger,  slave,  or  savage ;  their  decay 
Has  dried  up  realms  to  deserts  ; — not  so  thou. 
Unchangeable  save  to  thy  wild  waves'  play  :-— 
Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thy  azure  brow: — 
Such  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  roUest  now. 

5.  Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  th'  Almighty's  form 
Glasses  itself  in  tempests ;  m  all  time. 

Calm  or  convuls'd— in  breeze,  or  gale,  or  storm, 

Icmg  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 

Dark  heaving,— boundless,  endless,  and  sublime— 


208  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   II. 

The  image  of  Eternity — the  throne 
Of  the  Invisible ;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made  ;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee  ;  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

Byron, 

SECTION    IV 

The  Sacking  of  Prague. 

.    1.  Oh  !  sacred  Truth  !  thy  triumph  ceasM  awhile, 
And  Hope,  thy  sister,  ceas'd  with  thee  to  smile, 
When  leagued  Oppression  pour'd  to  Northern  wars 
Her  whisker'd  panders  and  her  fierce  hussars, 
Wav'd  her  dread  standard  to  the  breeze  of  morn, 
PeaPd  her  loud  drum,  and  tvvang'd  her  trumpet  horn  ; 
Tumultuous  horror  brooded  o'ei  her  van, 
Presaging  wrath  to  Poland — and  to  man  ! 

2.  Warsaw's  last  champion  from  her  height  surveyed, 
Wide  o'er  the  fields  a  waste  of  ruin  laid, — 

Oh  !  Heav'n,  he  cried,  my  bleeding  country  save! 
Is  there  no  hand  on  high  to  shield  the  brave? 
Yet,  though  destruction  sweeps  these  lovely  plains, 
Rise,  fellow-men!  our  country  yet  remains! 
By' that  dread  name,  we  wave  the  sword  on  high, 
And  swear  for  her  to  live  I — with  her  to  die! — 

3.  He  said,  and  on  the  rampart  heights  array'd 
His  trusty  warriors,  few  but  undismay'd  ; 

Firm  plac'd  and  slow,  a  horrid  front  they  form. 
Still  as  the  breeze,  but  dreadful  as  the  storm; 
Low,  murm'ring  sounds  along  their  banners  fly, 
Revenge,  or  death — the  watchword  and  reply; — 
Then  peal'd  the  notes,  omnipotent  to  charm. 
And  the  loud  tocsin  toll'd  their  last  alarm ! — 

4.  In  vain,  alas!  in  vam, ye  gallant  few! 
From  rank  to  rank  your  volley'd  thunder  flew; 
Oh  bloodiest  picture  in  the  Book  of  Time^ 
Sarmatia  fell,  unwept,  without  a  crime, — 
Found  not  a  gen'rous  friend,  a  pitying  foe. 
Strength  in  her  arms,  nor  mercy  in  her  wo! 
Dropp'd  from  her  nerveless  grasp  the  shattered  spear 
Clos'd  her  bright  eye,  and  curb'd  her  high  career ; 
Hope,  for  a  season,  bade  the  world  farewell; 

And  freedom  shriek'd — as  Kosciusko  fell ! 

5.  The  sun  went  down,  nor  ceas'd  the  carnage  there, 
Tumultuous  murder  shook  the  midnight  air; 


Chap.  VI.  promiscuous  pieces.  209 

Oil  Prague's  proud  arch  the  fires  of  ruin  glow, 
His  blood-dy'd  waters  murm'ring  far  below; 
The  storm  prevails,  the  rampart  yields  away, 
Bursts  the  wild  cry  of  horror  and  dismay  ! 
Hark  !  as  the  smouldering  piles  with  thunder  fall, 
A  thousand  shrieks  for  hopeless  mercy  call ! 
Earth  shook,  red  meteors  fiash'd  along  the  sky, 
And  conscious  Nature  shudder'd  at  the  cry  ! 

6.  Oh  !  righteous  Heaven  !  ere  Freedom  found  a  grave, 
Wiiy  slept  the  sword  Omnipotent  to  save  ? 

Where  was  thine  arm,  O  Vengeance  !  where  thy  rod,. 
That  smote  the  foes  of  Zion  and  of  God, — 
That  crush'd  proud  Ammon,  when  his  iron  car 
Was  yoked  in  wrath,  and  thunder'd  from  afar  ? 
Where  was  the  storm  that  slumber'd  till  the  host 
Of  blood-stain'd  Pharaoh  left  their  trembling  coast  ? 
Then  bade  the  deep  in  wild  commotion  flow, 
And  heav'd  an  ocean  on  their  march  below  ! 

7.  Departed  spirits  of  the  mighty  dead  ! 
Ye  that  at  Marathon  and  Leucirabled  ! 
Friends  of  the  world  !  restore  your  swords  to  man, 
Fight  in  his  sacred  cause,  and  lead  the  van 

Yet  for  Sarmatia's  tears  of  blood  atone, 
And  make  her  arm  puissant  as  your  own ! 
Oh  !  once  ajjain  to  Freedom's  cause  return, 
The  Patriot  Tell-7-the  Bruce  of  Bannockburn ! 

8.  Yes !  thy  proud  lords,  unpitied  land  !  shall  see  . 
That  man  hath  yet  a  soul — and  dare  be  free  ! 

A  little  while,  along  thy  sadd'ning  plains, 
The  starless  night  of  desolation  reigns; 
Truth  shall  restore  the  light  by  Nature  giv'n 
And,  like  Prometheus,  bring  the  fire  of  Heav'n  ! 
Prone  to  the  dust  Oppression  shall  be  hurl'd, — 
Her  name,  her  nature,  wither'd  from  the  world ! 

Campbell 

SECTION   v. 

The  Greek  and  the  Turkman. 

1.  The  Turkman  lay  beside  the  river ; 
The  wind  play'd  loose  through  bow  and  quiver; 
The  chaiger  on  the  bank  fed  free; 
The  shield  imng  glittering  from  the  tree  ; 
The  trumpet,  shawm,  and  attabal. 
Were  hid  from  dew  by  cloak  and  pall ; 
14 


i^TC  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaET    II. 

For  long  and  weary  was  the  way 

The  hordes  had  march'd  that  burning  day. 

2.  Above  them,  on  the  sky  of  June, 
Broad  as  a  buckler,  glowM  the  moon. 
Flooding  with  glory  vale  and  hill; 
Ih  silver  sprang  the  mountain  rill ; 
The  weeping  shrub  in  silver  bent; 

A  j)ile  of  silver  stood  the  tent : 
All  soundless,  sweet  tranquillity, 
All  beauty,  hill,  and  tent,  and  tree. 

3.  There  came  a  sound — 'twas  like  the  gush 
When  night  winds  shake  the  rose's  bush  ; 
There  came  a  sound — 'twas  like  the  flow 

Of  rivers  swell'd  V{iih  melting  snow; 

There  came  a  sound — 'twas  like  the  tread 

Of  wolves  along  the  valley's  bed  ; 
There  came  a  sound — 'twas  like  the  roar 
Of  ocean  on  its  winter  shore. 

4.  "Death  to  the  Turk!"  uprose  the  yell; 
On  rolled  the  charge — a  thunder  peal: 
The  Tartan  arrows  fell  like  rain. 

They  clank'd  on  helm,  on  mail,  on  chain  ; 
In  blood,  in  hate,  in  death,  were  twin'd 
Savage  and  Greek,  mad,  bleeding,  blind ; 
And  still  on  flank,  on  front,  and  rear, 
Rag'd,  Constantine,  thy  thirstiest  spear! 

5.  Brassy  and  pale,  a  type  of  doom, 
Labor'd  the  moon,  through  deep'ning  gloom ; 
Down  plung'd  her  orb — 'twas  pitchy  night : — 
Now  Turkman,  turn  thy  reins  for  flight ! 

On  rush'd  tiieir  thousands  through  the  dark; 

But  in  their  camp  a  ruddy  spark, 
Like  an  uncertain  meteor,  reel'd  : 
Thy  hand,  brave  king,  that  firebrand  wlieel'd  ! 

6.  Wild  burst  the  burning  element 
O'er  man  and  courser,  Hag  and  tent ; 

And  through  the  blaze  the  Greeks  outsprang, 
Like  tigers,  bloody,  foot  and  fang. 
With  dagger's  stab,  and  falchion's  sweep, 
Delving  the  stunn'd  and  stag2:ering  heap, 
Till  lay  the  slave  by  chief  and  Khan, 
And  all  was  gore  that  once  was  man. 

7.  There's  wailing  on  the  Euxine  shore — 
Her  chivalry  shall  ride  no  more. 


Chap.  VI.  promiscuous  pieces.  211 

There's  wailing  on  thy  hills,  Altai, 
For  chiefs — the  Grecian  vultures'  prey  ! 
But  Bosphorus,  thy  silver  wave 
Hears  shouts  for  the  returning  brave — 

The  bravest  of  her  kjngly  line, 

For  there  comes  glorious  Constantine.  Croly, 

SECTION   VI. 

Morning  Meditations. 

1.  In  sleep's  serene  oblivion  laid, 
I've  safely  pass'd  the  silent  night; 

Again  I  see  the  breaking  shade. 
Again  behold  the  morning  light. 

2.  New  born  I  bless  the  waking  hour; 
Once  more,  with  awe,  rejoice  to  be ; 

My  conscious  soul  resumes  her  power, 
And  soars,  my  guardian  God.^  to  thee. 

3.  O  guide  me  through  the  various  maze 
My  doubtful  feet  are  doom'd  to  tread ; 

And  spread  thy  shield'^  protecting  blaze, 
Where  dangers  press  around  my  head. 

4.  A  deeper  shade  shall  soon  impend — 
A  deeper  sleep  my  eyes  oppress: 

Yet  then  thy  strength  shall  still  defend ; 
Thy  goodness  still  delight  to  bless. 

5.  That  deeper  shade  shall  break  away  ; 
That  deeper  sleep  shall  leave  mine  eyes; 

Thy  light  shall  give  eternal  day; 
Thy  love,  the  rapture  of  tli^  skies 

Hawkesworth. 

SECTION    VII. 

Hymn  to  the  Stars. 

1.  Ay,  there  ye  shine,  and  there  have  shone, 
In  one  eternal  'hour  of  prime,' 

Each  rolling  burningly,  alone. 

Through  boundless  space  and  countless  time. 
Ay,  there  ye  shine — the  golden  dev/s 

That  lave  the  realms  by  seraphs  trod. 
There,  through  yon  echoing  vault,  diffuse  ^ 

The  song  of  choral  worlds  to  God. 

2.  Ye  visible  spirits  I  bright  as  erst 
Young  Eden's  birthnight  saw  ye  shine, 


212  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT  IL 

On  all  her  flowers  and  fountains  first, 
Yet  sparkling  from  the  hand  divine  • 

Yes,  bright  as  then  ye  smiPd,  to  catch 
The  music  of  a  sphere  so  fair, 

Ye  hold  your  high  immortal  watch, 
And  gird  your  God's  pavilion  there. 

3.  Gold  frets  to  dust, — yet  there  ye  are ; 
Time  rots  the  diamond, — there  ye  roll 

In  primal  light,  as  if  each  star 

Enshrined  an  everkisting  soul ! 
And  does  it  not — since  your  bright  throngs 

One  all-enlight'ning  Spirit  own, 
Prais'd  tiiere  by  pure,  sidereal  tongues, 

Eternal,  glorious,  blest,  alone  ? 

4.  Could  man  but  see  what  ye  have  seen, 
Unfold  awhile  the  shrouded  past. 

From  all  that  is,  to  what  has  been, 

The  glance  how  rich !  the  range  how  vast ! 

The  birth  of  time,  the  rise,  the  fall 
Of  empires,  myriads,  ages  flown, 

Thrones,  cities,  tongues,  arts^  worships, — all 
The  things  whose  echoes  are  not  gone. 

5.  Ye  saw  rapt  Zoroaster  send 

His    soul  into  your  mystic  reign; 
Ye  saw  th'  adoring  Sabian  bend — 

The  living  hills  his  mighty  fane! — 
Beneath  his  blue  and  beaming  sky, 

He  worshipp'd  at  your  lofty  shr;ne, 
And  deem'd  he  saw,  with  gifted  eye, 

The  Godhead  in  his  works  divine. 

6.  And  there  ye  shine,  as  if  to  mock 
•  The  children  of  a  mortal  sire. 

The  storm,  the  bolt,  the  earthquake's  shock 

The  red  volcano's  cataract  fire. 
Drought,  famine,  plac^ue,  and  blood,  and  flanie, 

All  nature's  ills — and  life's  worse  woes  — 
Are  nought  to  you  ; — ye  smile  the  same. 

And  scorn  ahke  their  dawn  and  close. 

7.  Ay,  there  ye  roll — emblems  sublime 
Of  him  whose  spirit  o'er  us  moves. 

Beyond  the  clouds  of  grief  and  crime. 
Still  shining  on  the  world  he  loves  : — 

Nor  is  one  scene  to  mortals  given, 
That  more  divides  the  soul  and  sod, 


Chap.  VI.  promiscuous  pieces.  213 

Than  yon  proud  heraldry  of  heaven — 
Yon  burning  blazonry  of  God. 

SECTION  viri. 
Address  to  the  Mummy ^  in  BelzonPs  Exhibition^  Londoru 

1.  And  thou  hast  walk'd  about  (how  strange  a  story  !^ 
In  Thebes'  streets  three  thousand  years  ago, 

When  the  Meninoniuni  was  in  all  its  glory, 

And  time  had  not  begun  to  overthrow 
Those  temples,  palaces,  and  piles  stupendous. 
Of  which  the  very  ruins  are  tremendous. 

2.  Speak  !  for  thou  long  enough  hast  acted  Dummy, 
Thou  hast  a  tongue — come,  let  us  hear  its  tune; 

Thou'rt  standing  on  thy  legs,  above  ground,  Mummy ! 

Revisiting  the  glimpses  of  the  moon  : 
Not  like  thin  ghosts,  and  disembodied  creatures, 
But  with  thy  bones  and  flesh,  and  limbs  and  features. 

3.  Tell  us — for  doubtless  thou  canst  recollect — 
To  whom  should  we  assign  the  Sphinx's  fame? 

Was  Cheops  or  Cephrenes  architect 

Of  either  pyramid  that  bears  his  name? 
I^  Pompey's  pillar  really  a  misnomer? 
Had  Thebes  a  hundred  gates,  as  sung  by  Homer? 

4.  Perhaps  thou  wert  a  Mason  and  forbidden 
By  oath  to  tell  the  mysteries  of  thy  trade  ; 

Then  say  what  secret  melody  was  hidden 

In  Memnon's  statue,  which  at  sunrise  play'd  ? 
Perhaps  thou  wert  a  Priest — if  so,  my  struggles 
Are  vain; — Egyptian  priests  ne'er  owned  their  juggles. 

5.  Perchance  that  very  hand,  nowpinion'd  flat, 
Has  hob-a-nobb'd  with  Pharaoh,  glass  to  glass  5 

Or  dropp'd  a  half-penny  in  Homer's  hat, 

Or  dotf'd  thine  own  to  let  dueen  Dido  pass. 
Or  held,  by  Solomon's  own  invitation, 
A  torch  at  the  great  Temple's  dedication. 

6.  Since  first  thy  form  was  in  this  box  extended, 

We  have,  above  ground,  seen  some  strange  mutations; 
The  Roman  empire  has  begun  and  ended; 

New  worlds  have  risen — we  have  lo^t  old  nations; 
And  countless  kings  have  into  dust  been  humbled, 
While  not  a  fragment  of  thy  flesh  has  crumbled. 

♦  7.  Didst  thou  not  hear  the  pother  o'er  thy  head    <• 
When  the  great  Persian  conquerer,  Cambyses, 


214  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   II. 

March'd  armies  o'er  thy  tomh  with  thunderiag  tread, 

O'erthrew  Osiris,  Orus,  Apis,  Isis, 
An(J  shook  the  Pyramids  with  fear  and  wonder, 
When  the  gigantic  Memnon  fell  asunder  ? 

8.  If  the  tomb's  secrets  may  not  be  confess'd, 
Tlie  nature  of  thy  private  life  unfold: — 

A  heart  has  throbb'd  beneath  that  leathern  breast, 
And  tears  adown  that  dusky  cheek  have  roiled : — 
Have  children  climbed  those  knees,  and  kissed  that  face? 
What  was  thy  name  and  station,  age  and  race  ? 

9.  Statue  of  flesh — immortal  of  the  dead! 
Imperishable  type  of  evanescence  ! 

Posthumous  man,  who  quitt'st  thy  narrow  bed, 
And  standest  undecayed  within  our  presence, 
Thou  wilt  hear  nothing  till  the  judgment  morning 
When  the  great  trump  shall  thrill  thee  with  its  warning. 

10.  Why  should  this  worthless  tegument  endure, 
If  its  undying  guest  be  lost  for  ever? 

O  let  us  keep  the  soul  enbalmed  and  pure 

In  living  virtue;  that  when  both  must  sever, 
Although  corruption  may  our  frame  consume, 
Til'  immortal  spirit  in  the  skies  may  bloom. 

SECTION   IX. 

On  Time. 

1.  Mov'd  by  a  strange  mysterious  power, 
That  hastes  along  the  rapid  hour, 

I  touch  the  deep  ton'd  string; 
E'en  now  I  see  his  wilher'd  face. 
Beneath  yon  tower's  mouldering  base, 

Where  mossy  vestments  cling. 

2.  DarK  roll'd  his  cheerless  eye  around. 
Severe  his  grisly  visage  frown'd — 

No  locks  his  head  array 'd, — 
He  grasped  a  hero's  antique  bust, 
The  marbl-e  crumbled  into  dust, 

And  sunk  amidst  the  shade. 

S.  Malignant  triumph  filled  his  eyes, 
*  See  hapless  mortals,  see,"  he  cries, 

"  How  vain  your  idle  schemes  ! 
Beneath  my  grasp,  the  fairest  form 
Dissolves  and  mingles  with  the  worm ; 
Thus  vanish  mortal  dreams. 


Chap.  VI  promiscuous  pieces  tJl5 

« 

4.  The  works  of  God !  and  man  I  spoil ; 
The  proudest  proofs  of  human  loll, 

I  treat  as  childish  toys : 
I  crush  the  noble  and  the  brave, 
Beauty  I  mar,  and  in  the  grave 

I  bury  human  joys."  # 

5.  Hold  !  ruthless  phantomr-hold !  I  cried, 
If  thou  canst  mock  the  dreams  of  pride, 

And  meaner  hopes  devour, 
Virtue,  beyond  thy  reach,  shall  bloom^ 
When  other  charms  sink  to  the  tomb, — 

She  scorns  thy  envious  power 

6.  On  frosty  wings  the  demon  fled, 
Howling  as  o'er  the  wall  he  sped, — 

"  Another  year  is  gone  I" 
The  ruin'd  spire — the  crumbling- tow'r, 
Nodding,  obey'd  his  awful  pow'r. 

As  time  flew  swiftly  on. 

7.  Since  beauty  then,  to  time  must  bow, 
And  as^e  deform  the  fairest  brow. 

Let  brighter  charms  be  yours: 
The  virtuous  mind  embalm'd  in  truth, 
Shall  bloom  in  everlasting  youth, 

While  Time  himself  endures.  Osborne 

SECTION    X. 

The  Silent  Expression  of  Natine, 

1.  When  thoughtful  to  the  vault  of  heaven 
I  lift  my  wondering  eyes, 

And  see  the  clear  and  quiet  even. 

To  night  resign  the  skies, — 
The  moon,  in  silence,  rear  her  crest, 

The  stars  in  silence  shine, — 
A  secret  rapture  fill  my  breast. 

That  speaks  its  birth  divine, 

2.  Unheard,  the  dews  around  mc  fall, 
And  heavenly  influence  shed  ; 

And,  silent,  on  this  earthly  ball. 

Celestial  footsteps  tread. 
Aerial  mu-^ic  wakes  the  spheres, 

Touch'd  by  harmonious  powers: 
With  sounds,  unheard  by  mortal  ears, 

They  charm  the  lingering  hours. 


216  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  1L 

3.  Night  reigns,  m  silence,  o'er  the  pole, 
And  spreads  her  gems  unheard  ; 

Her  lessons  penetrate  the  ioul, 

Yet  borrow  not  a  word. 
Noiseless  the  sun  emits  his  fire, 

And  pours  his  golden  streams; 
And  silently  the  shades  retire 

Before  his  rising  beams. 

4.  The  hand  that  moves,  and  regulates, 
And  guides  the  vast  machine, — 

That  governs  wills,  and  times,  and  fates, — 

Retires,  and  works  unseen. 
Angelic  visitants  forsake 

Their  amaranthine  bowers  ; 
On  silent  v/ing  their  stations  take, 

And  watch  th'  allotted  hours. 

5.  Sick  of  the  vanity  of  man, — 
.His  noise,  and  pomp,  and  show — 

I'll  move  upon  great  Nature's  plan, 

And,  silent,  work  below. 
With  inward  harmony  of  soul, 

I'll  wait  the  upper  sphere  ; 
Shinino-,  I'll  mount  above  the  pole, 

And  break  my  silence  there. 

SECTION    XI. 

The  Man  of  Benevolence. 

Let  me  record 
His  praise — the  man  of  great  benevolence, 
Who  charity  with  glowing  hesirt  embraced. 
And  to  her  gentle  bidding,  made  his  feet 
Swift  ministers. — Of  all  mankind,  his  soul 
Was  most  in  harmony  with  heaven:  as  one 
Sole  family  of  brothers,  sisters,  friends; 
One  in  their  origirii,  one  in  their  rights 
To  all  the  common  gifts  of  providence, 
And  in  their  hopes,  Fheir  joys,  and  sorrows  one, 
He  viewed  the  universal  human  race. 

2.  He  needed  not  a  law  of  stale  to  force 
Grudging  submission  to  the  law  of  God  : 
The  law  of  love  was  in  his  heart  alive. 
What  he  possessed,  he  counted  not  his  own. 
But,  like  a  faithful  steward  in  a  house 
Of  public  alms,  what  freely  he  received 


Chap.  VI.  promiscuous  pieces.  217 

He  freely  gave;  distributing  to  all 
The  helpless,  the  last  mile  beyond  his  own 
Temperate  support,  and  reckoning  still  the  gift 
But  justice,  due  to  want;  and  so  it  was  ; 
Aliho'  the  world,  with  compliment  not  ill 
Applied,  adorned  it  with  a  fairer  name. 

3.  Nor  did  he  wait  till  to  his  door  the  voice 
Of  supplication  came,  but  went  abroad. 
With  foot  as  silent  as  the  starry  dews, 

In  search  of  misery  that  pined  unseen, 

And  would  not  ask.     And  who  can  tell  what  sights 

He  saw  !  what  groans  he  heard  in  that  cold  world. 

Below !  where  Sin,  in  league  with  gloomy  Death, 

March'd  daily  thro'  the  length  and  breadth  of  ail 

The  land,  wasting  at  will,  and  making  earth, 

Fair  earth  !  a  lazar-house,  a  dungeon  dark; 

Where  Disappointment  fed  on  Ruined  Hope  ; 

Where  guilt,  worn  out,  leaned  on  the  triple  edge 

Of  want,  renior:r^e,  despair;  where  Cruelly 

Reached  forth  a  cup  of  wormwood  to  the  lips 

Of  sorrow,  that  to  deeper  sorrow  wailed  ; 

Where  Mockery,  and  Disease,  nnd  Poverty, 

Met  miserable  Age,  erewhile  sore  bent 

Wiih  his  own  burthen  ;  where  the  arrowy  winds 

Of  winter  pierced  the  naked  orphan  babe. 

And  chilled  the  mother's  heart  who  had  no  home, 

And  where,  alas  !  in  mid-time  of  his  day, 

The  honest  man,  rolib'd  by  some  villain's  hand, 

Or  with  long  sickness  pale,  and  paler  yet 

With  want  and  hunger,  oft  drank  bitter  draughts 

Of  his  own  tears,  and  had  no  bread  to  eat. 

4.  Oh  !  who  can  tell  what  sights  he  saw,  what  shapes 
Of  wretchedness  !  or  who  describe  what  smiles 

Of  gratitude  illun^ed  the  face  of  wo, 

While  froni  his  hand  he  gave  the  bounty  forth  ! 

As  when  the  sun,  from  cancer  wheeling  back, 

Returned  to  Capricorn,  and  showed  the  north. 

That  long  had  lain  in  cold  and  cheerless  night, 

His  beamv  countenance; — all  nature  then 

Rejoiced  together  glad  ;  the  llower  looked  up 

And  smiled  ;  the  forest  from  his  locks  shook  off 

The  hoary  frosts,  an<l  clapp'd  his  hands;  the  birds 

Awoke,  and,  singing,  rose  to  meet  the  day  ; 

And  from  his  hollow  den,  where  many  m»>nths 

He  slumbered  sad  in  darkness,  blithe  and  light 

Of  heart  the  savage  sprung,  and  saw  again  / 


2J8  NEW    ENGLISH    REAI^ER.  PaHT    II. 

His  mountains  shine ;  and  with  new  sonars  of  love, 

Allured  the  virgin's  ear;  so  did  the  house,  • 

The  prison-house  of  guilt,  and  and  ail  th'  abodes 

Of  unprovided  helplessness,  revive, 

As  on  them  looked  the  sunny  messenger 

Of  charity, — by  angels  tended  still, 

That  marked  his  deeds,  and  wrote  them  in  the  book 

Of  God's  .remembrance : — careless  he  to  be 

Observed  of  men  ;  or  have  each  mite  bestowed, 

Recorded  punctual  with  the  name  and  place 

In  every  bill  of  news :  pleased  to  do  good, 

He  gave  and  sought  no  more.  Pollok, 


SECTION    XII. 

The  Passions: — An  Ode. 

I.When  music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young, 
While  yet  in  early  Greece  she  sung, 
The  passions  oft,  to  hear  her  shell, 
Throng'd  around  her  magic  cell. 
Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting, 
Possess'd  beyond  the  Muse's  painting; 
By  turns,  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 
Disturb'd,  delighted,  rais'd,  refined  ; 
Till  once,  'tis  said,  when  all  were  fired, 
Fill'd  with  fury,  rapt,  inspir'd,  ' 

From  the  supporting  myrtles  round. 
They  snatch'd  her  instrumeiits  of  sound; 
And,  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart, 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art. 
Each — for  madness  rul'd  the  hour — 
Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power. 

2.  First,  Fear,  his  hand  its  skill  to  try, 
Amid  the  chords  bewilder'd  laid; 

And  back  recoil'd,  he  knew  not  why, 
E'en  at  the  sound  himself  had  made. 

3.  Next  Anger  rush'd ; — his  eyes  on  fire, 
In  lightnings  own'd  his  secret  stings; — 

In  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre, 

And  swept  with  hurried  hand  the  strings. 

4.  With  w^ofiil  measures  wan  Despair, 
In  sullen  sounds  his  grief  beguil'd — 

A  solemn,  strange,  and  mingled  air — 
'Twas  sad  by  fits,  by  starts  'twas  wild. 


i 


Chap.  VI.  promiscuous  pieces.  219 

5.  But  ihou,  O  Hope  !  with  eyes  so  fair, 

What  was  thy  delii^hted  measure  ? 
Still  it  whisper'd  prornis'd  pleasure, 
And  hade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail! 
Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong; 

And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale. 
She  called  on  Echo  still  through  all  her  song: 
And  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 
A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  every  close ; 
And  Hope,  enchanted,  smiPd,  and  wav'd  her  golden  hair. 

6.  And  longer  had  she  sung — hat,  with  a  frown, 
Revenge  impatient  rose. 

He  threw  his  blood-siain'd  sword  in  thunder  down; 

And,  with  a  withering  look. 

The  war-denouncing  trumpet  took,  t 

And  blew  a  blast  so  lOud  and  dread. 
Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  wo : 

And,  ever  and  anon,  he  beat. 

The  doubling  drum  with  furious  heat : 
And  though,  sometimes,  each  dreary  pause  between, 

Dejected  Pity  at  his  side. 

Her  soul-subduing  voice  applied, 

Yet  still  he  kept  his  wild  unalter'd  mien. 
While  each  strain'd  ball  of  sight  seem'd  bursting  from  his 
head. 

7.  Thy  numbers.  Jealousy,  to  nought  were  fxed — 
Sad  proof  of  Uiy  distressful  state — 

Of  differing  themes  the  veering  song  was  mix'd  ; 
And  now  it  courted  Love ;  now,  raving,  calPd  on  Hate. 

S.  With  eyes  uprais'd,  as  one  inspired, 

Pale  Melancholy  sat  retir'd  ; 

And,  from  her  wild  sequester'd  seat. 

In  notes,  by  distance  made  more  sw^eet, 
Pour'd  through  the  mellow  horn  her  pensive  soul ; 

And,  dashing  soft  from  rocks  around. 

Bubbling  runnels  joinM  the  sound  : 
Through  glades  and  glooms  the  mingled  measures  stole, 
Or  o'er  some  haunted  streams  with  fond  delay 

(Round  a  holy  cahn  diffusing. 

Love  of  peace,  and  lonely  musing.) 
In  hollow  murmurs  died  away. 

9.  But,  O!  how  alter'd  was  its  sprightlier  ton 
When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healthiest  hue, 


220  NEW  ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    H, 

Her  bow  across  ner  shoulder  fluno^, 

Her  buskins  gemm'd  with  morning  dew, 

Blew  an  inspirin<T  air,  that  d^le  nnd  thicket  rung! — 
The  hunter's  call,  to  Faun  and  Dryad  known. 

The  oak  crovvn'd  Sisters,  and  their  chaste  eyed  Q,ueenj 

Satyrs  and  sylvan  boys  were  seen, 

Peeping  from  forth  their  alleys  green: 

Brown  Exercise  rejoic'd  to  hear, 

And  Sport  leapM  up,  and  seized  his  beechen  spear. 

10.  Last  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial : — 

He,  with  viny  crown  advancing, 
First  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  address'd — 

But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk  awakening  viol. 
Whose  sweet  entrancing  voice  he  lov'd  the  best. 
They  would  have  thoue:ht  who  heard  the  strain, 
Uhey  saw,  in  Tempe's  vale,  her  native  maids, 

Amidst  the  festal-sounding  shades, 
To  some  unwearied  minstrel  dancin<r; 
While,  as  his  flying  fingers  kiss'd  the  strings, 

Love  fram'd  with  Mirth,  a  gay  fantastic  round  ; 

Loose  were  her  tresses  seen,  her  zone  unbound, 

And  he,  amidst  his  frolic  play. 

As  if  he  would  the  charming  air  repay, 
Shook  thous'and  odors  from  his  dewy  wings. — Collins, 

SECTION    XIII. 

Elegy  iGviUen  in  a  Country  Churchyard. 

L  The  curfew  tolls — the  knell  of  parting  day — 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea; 

The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
Ana  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

2.  Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds  ; 

Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight,  ** 

And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds  ; — 

3.  Save  that,  from  yondfcr  ivy-mantled  tower, 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 

Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient,  solitary  reign. 

4.  Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 
Wl^re  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid. 
The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamiet  sleep. 


^ChaP.    VI.  PROMISCUOUS   PIECES.  221 

5.  The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 

The  swallow,  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 

The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 


%' 


6.  For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care ; 

No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 


7.  Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield  ; 

Their  furrow  oft  tbe  stubborn  glebe  has  broke: 
How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield! 

How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke ! 

S.  Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys  and  destiny  obscure  ; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

9.  The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 

Await,  alike,  th'  inevitable  hour  ; — 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

10.  Nor  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault. 
If  memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise. 

Where,  through  the  long-drawn  aisle,  and  fretted  vault. 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

11.  Can  storied  urn,  or  animated  bust, 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath? 
Can  Honor's  roice  provoke  the  silent  dust, 
Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  death? 

12.  Perhaps,  in  this  neglected  spot,  is  laid 
Some  heart,  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 

Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre : 

13.  But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page. 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll  j 

Chill  penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

14.  Full  ma:^y  a  gem,  of  purest  ray  serene, 
The  dark,  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear; 

Full  many  a  flower  is  bora  to  blush  unseen. 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 


222  NEW  ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT  II, 

15.  Some  village  Hampden,  that,  with  dauntless  breast, 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood; 

Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest ; 
Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood, 

16.  Th'  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 

To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land. 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, — 

17.  Their  lot  forbade  :  nor  circumscribed  alone 
Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined; 

Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind ; — 

18.  The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  Truth  to  hide, 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  Shame; 

Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride, 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  muse's  flame. 

19.  Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray  • 

Along  the  cool,  sequestered  vale  of  life 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

20.  Yet  ev'n  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect, 
Some  frail  memorial,  still  erected  nigh. 

With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decked. 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

21.  Their  name,  their  years,  spell'd  by  the  unletter'd  muse 
The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply ; 

And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strew 
That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

22.  For  who,  to  dumb  forget  fulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned — 

Left  the  Avarm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day — 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind? 

23.  On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires; 

Even  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  nature  cries, 
Even  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires, 

24.  For  thee,  who  mindful  of  th'  unhonored  dead, 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate, 

If  chance  by  lonely  Contemplation  led, 

Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate. — 


QbAP.    VI.  PROMISCUOUS   PIECES.  223 

25.  Haply,  some  hoary -headed  swain  may  say, 
"  Oft  have  we  seen  Jiim,  at  the  peep  of  dawn 

Brushing,  with  hasty  steps,  the  dews  away, 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 

26.  "  There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech, 
That  wreaths  its  old,  fantastic  roots  so  high. 

His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretcn, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

27.  "  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling,  as  in  scorn, 
Muttering  his  wayward  fancies,  he  would  rove; 

Now  drooping,  woful  wan,  like  one  forlorn. 

Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in  hopeless  love. 

28.  "  One  morn  I  missed  him  on  th'  accustomed  hill, 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favorite  tree : 

Another  came;  nor  jet  beside  the  rill. 

Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood,  was  he  : — 

29.  "The  next,  with  dirges,  due,  in  sad  array. 

Slow  Through  the  churchway  path  we  saw  him  borne: 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay, 
Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn." 

The  Epitaph. 

30.  Here  rests  nis  head  upon  the  lap  of  earth, 
A  youth,  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown : 

Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 
And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own. 

31.  Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere: 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send : — 

He  gave  to  misery  all  he  had — a  tear; 

He  gained  from  heaven — 'twas  all  he  wished — a  friend. 

32.  No  farther  seek  his  Merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode — 
(There  they,  alike,  in  trembling  hope  repose) — 

The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God.  Gray. 

SECTION   XIV.  ^ 

On  the  Barrows^  or  Monumental  Mounds^  in  the  Prairiea 
of  the  Westeim  Rivers. 

1.  The  sun's  last  rays  were  fading  from  the  west. 
The  deep'ning  shade  stole  slowly  o'er  the  plain, 

The  evening  breeze  had  lulled  itself  to  rest, 
And  all  was  silence, — save  the  mournful  strain 


324  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   II. 

With  which  the  widowed  turtle  wooed,  In  vaui, 
Her  absent  lover  to  her  lonely  nest. 

2.  Now,  one  by  one,  emerging  to  the  sight, 
The  brighter  stars  assume  their  seats  on  high ; 

The  moon's  pale  crescent  glowed  serenely  bright, 

As  the  last  twilight  fled  along  the  sky. 

And  all  her  train,  in  cloudless  majesty, 
Were  glittering  on  the  dark  blue  vault  of  night. 

3.  I  lingered,  by  some  soft  enchantment  bound, 
And  gazed,  enraptured,  on  the  lovely  scene ; 

From  the  dark  summit  of  an  Indian  mound, 
I  saw  the  plain,  outspread  in  living  green; 
Its  fringe  of  cliffs  was  in  the  distance  seen, 

And  the  dark  line  of  forest  sweeping  round, 

4.  I  saw  the  lesser  mounds  which  round  me  rose  ; 
Each  was  a  giant  heap  cf  mouldering  clay  ; 

Tliere  slept  the  warriors,  women,  ffiends,  and  foes, 
There,  side  by  side,  the  rival  ckieftoins  lay; 
And  mighty  tribes,  swept  from  the  ftice  of  day, 

Forgot  th«ir  wars,  and  found  a  long  repose. 

5.  Ye  mouldering  relics  of  departed  years, 
Your  names  have  perish'd  ;  not  a  trace  remains. 

Save  where  the  grass-grown  mound  its  summit  rears 
From  the  green  bosom  of  your  native  plains. 
Say,  do  your  spirits  wear  oblivion's  chains  ? 

Did  death  forever  quench  your  hopes  and  fears  ? — 

6.  Or  did  those  fairy  hopes  of  future  bliss, 
Which  simple  nature  to  your  bosoms  gave, 

Find  other  worlds  with  fairer  skies  than  this, 
Beyond  the  gloomy  portals  of  the  grave. 
In  whose  bright  climes  the  virtuous  and  the  brave 

Rest  from  their  toils,  and  all  their  cares  dismiss  ? — 

7.  Where  the  great  hunter  still  pursues  the  chase. 
And,  o'er  the  sunny  mountains  tracks  the  deer, 

Or  where  he  finds  each  long-extinguish'd  race. 
And  sees  once  more  the  mighty  mammoth  rear 
The  giant  form  which  lies  imbedded  here, 

Of  other  years  the  sole  remaining  trace. 

8.  Or,  It  may  be,  that  still  ye  linger  near 

The  sleeping  ashes,  once  your  dearest  pride ; 


Chap.  VI.  promiscuous  pieces.  225 

And,  could  your  forms  to  mortal  eye  appear, 
Or  the  dark  veil  of  death  be  thrown  aside, 
Then  might  I  see  your  restless  shadows  glide, 

With  watchful  care,  around  these  relics  dear. 

9.  If  so,  forgive  the  rude,  unhallowed  feet 

Which  trod  so  thoughtless  o'er  your  mighty  dead. 
I  would  not  thus  profane  their  lone  retreat, 

Nor  trample  where  the  sleeping  warripr's  head 

Lay  pillowed  on  his  everlasting  bed, 
Age  after  age,  still  sunk  in  slumbers  sweet. 

10.  Farewell !  and  may  you  still  in  peace  repose ; 
Still  o'er  you  may  the  flowers  untrodden,  bloom. 

And  softly  wave  to  every  breeze  that  blows. 
Casting  their  fragrance  on  each  lonely  tomb. 
In  which  your  tribes  sleep  in  earth's  common  womb, 

And  mmgle  with  the  cky  from  which  they  rose. 

Flint. 


SECTION    XV. 

The  Ruins, 

1.  I've  seen,  in  twilight's  pensive  hour. 
The  moss-clad  dome,  the  mouldering  tower, 

In  awful  ruin  stand  ; 
That  dome,  where  grateful  voices  sung, 
That  tower,  whose  chiming  music  rung 

Majestically  grand ! 

2.  I've  seen,  'mid  sculptur'd  pride,  the  tomb 
Where  heroes  slept,  in  silent  gloom, 

Unconscious  of  tb(  ir  fame  ; 
Those  who,  with  Jaurel'd  honors  crown'd, 
Among  their  foes  spread  terror  round. 

And  gain'd — an  empty  name ! 

3.  I've  seen,  \\\  death's  dark  palace  laid. 
The  ruins  of  a  beauteous  maid. 

Cadaverous  and  pale ! 
That  maiden  who,  w^hile  life  remain'd, 
O'er  rival  charms  in  triumph  reign'd. 

The  mistress  of  the  vale. 

4.  I've  seen,  where  dungeon  damps  abide, 
A  youth,  admir'd  in  manhood's  pride, 

15 


226  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  IL 

In  morbid  fancy  rave  ; 
He  who,  in  reason's  happier  day, 
"VVas  virtuous,  witty,  nobly  gay, 

Learn'd,  generous,  and  brave. 

5.  Nor  dome,  nor  tower  m  twilight  shade, 
Nor  hero  fallen,  nor  beauteous  maid, 

To  ruin  all  consigned, — 
Can  with  such  pathos  touch  my  breast, 
As  (on  the  maniac's  form  impress'd) 

The  ruins  of  the  mind  !  Osborne. 


SECTION    XVI. 

A  Summer  Evening  Meditation. 

1.  'Tis  past !     The  sultry  tyrant  of  the  south 
Has  spent  his  short-lived  rage  ;  more  grateful  hours 
Move  silent  on:  the  skies  no  more  repel 

The  dazzled  sight,  but  with  mild  maiden  beams 
Of  tempered  luster,  court  the  cherishM  eye 
To  wander  o'er  their  sphere,  where,  hung  aloft, 
Dian's  bright  crescent,  like  a  silver  bow 
New  strung  in  heaven,  lifts  high  its  beamy  horns, 
Impatient  for  the  night,  and  seems  to  push 
Her  brother  down  the  sky. 

2.  Fair  Venus  shines 
Even  in  the  eye  of  day ;  with  sweetest  beam 
Propitious  shines,  and  shakes  a  trembling  flood 
Of  softened  radiance  from  her  dewy  locks. 

The  shadows  spread  apace;  while  meek-eyed  Eve, 
Her  check  yet  warm  with  blushes,  slow  retires 
Through  the  Hesperian  gardens  of  the  west, 
And  shuts  the  gates  of  day. 

3.  'Tis  now  the  hour 
When  Contemplation,  from  her  sunless  haunts. 
The  cool  damp  grotto,  or  the  lonely  depth 

Of  unpierc'd  woods,  where  wrapt  in  solid  shade 
She  mus'd  away  the  gaudy  hours  of  noon, 
And  fed  on  thoughts  unripen'd  by  the  sun. 
Moves  forv/ard  ;  and  with  radiant  finger  points 
To  yon  blue  concave  swelled  by  breath  divine, 
Where,  one  by  one,  the  living  eyes  of  heaven 
Awake,  quick  kindling  o'er  the  face  of  ether 
One  boundless  blaze— ten  thousand  trembling  fires, 


Chap.  VI.  promiscuous  pieces.  227 

And  daacing  lusters,  where  th'  unsteady  eye, 
Restless  and  dazzled,  wanders  uncon^ned 
O'er  all  this  field  of  glories — spacious  field, 
And  worthy  of  the  Master — he,  whose  hand 
With  hieroglyphics  older  than  the  Nile, 
Inscrih'd  the  mystic  tablet,  hung  on  hi<?h 
To  public  <raze,  and  said — Adore,  O  Man  ! 
The  linger  of  thy  God  I 

4.  How  deep  the  silence,  yet  how  loud  the  praise : 
But  are  they  silent  all  ?  or  is  there  not 

A  tongue  in  every  star,  that  talks  with  man 
And  wods  him  to  be  wise — or  woos  in  vain — 
This  dead  of  midnight  is  the  noon  of  thought, 
And  w^isdom  mounts  her  zenith  with  the  stars. 
At  this  still  hour,  the  self-collected  soul 
Turns  inward,  and  beholds  a  stranger  there 
Of  high  descent,  and  more  than  mortal  rank—' 
An  embryo  God — a  spark  of  fire  divine. 
Which  must  burn  on  for  ages,  w^hen  the  sun, 
(Fair  transitory  creature  of  a  day  !) 
Has  closed  his  golden  eye,  and,  wrapt  in  shades, 
Forgets  his  wonted  journey  through  the  east. 

5.  Seized  in  ihoughtj 
On  fancy's  wild  and  rovmg  Aving  I  sail, 
From  the  green  borders  of  the  peopled  earth, 
And  the  pale  moon,  her  duteous  fair  attendant; 
From  solitary  Mars  ;  from  the  vast  orb 

Of  Jupiter, — whose  huge  gigantic  bulk 
Dances  in  ether  like  the  lightest  leaf, — 
To  the  dim  verge  the  suburbs  of  the  system. 
Where  cheerless  Saturn  'midst  his  watery  moons, 
Girl  with  a  lucid  zone,  in  gloomy  pomp, 
Sits  like  an  exiled  monarch.     Fearless  thence 
I  launch  into  the  trackless  deeps  of  space, 
Where,  burning  round,  ten  thousand  sims  appear 
Of  elder  beam,  which  a.<k  no  leave  to  shine 
^  Of  our  terrestrial  star,  nor  borrow  light 

From  the  proud  regent  of  our  scanty  day — 
Sons  of  the  morning,  first-born  of  creation. 
And  only  less  than  He  who  marks  their  track. 
And  guides  their  fiery  wheels. 

6.  But  O  thou  mif^hty  mind  !  whose  powerful  word 
Said,  "  Thus  hit  all  things  be,"  and  thus  they  were — 
Where  shall  I  seek  thy  presence  7  how,  unblanied, 
Invoke  thy  dread  perfection? 


223  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  pART   II. 

Have  the  broad  eyelids  of  the  mbrn  beheld  thee? 

Or  does  the  beamy  shoulder  of  Orion 

Support  thy  throne  ?  Oh  !  look  with  pity  down 

On  erring  guilty  man  ;  not  in  thy  names 

Ol'  terror  clad ;  nor  with  those  thunders  armed 

That  conscious  Sinai  felt,  wh'^n  fear  appalled 

The  scattered  tribes — thou  hast  a  gentler  voice, 

That  whispers  comfort  to  the  swelling  heart, 

Aba5^hed,  yet  longing  to  behold  her  Maker. 

7,  Eut  now  my  soul,  unused  to  stretch  her  powers 
In  flight  so  daring,  drops  her  weary  wing, 
And  seeks  again  the  known  accustomed  spot, 
Drest  up  with  sun,  and  shade,  and  lawns,  and  streams 
A  mansion  fair  and  spacious  for  its  guest, 
And  all  replete  w^ith  wonders.     Let  me  here, 
Content  and  grateful,  wait  th'  appointed  time. 
And  ripen  for  the  skies  :  the  hour  will  come 
When  all  these  splendors  bursting  on  my  sight. 
Shall  stand  unveiled,  and  to  my  ravished  sense 
Unlock  the  glories  of  the  world  unknown. 

Barhauld. 


PxiRT  III. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AMERICAN  HISTORY. 

7%e  Discovery  of  America  .'—Settlement  of  Virginia  by 
the  English, 

1.  America  was  discovered  in  the  year  1492,  ^y  Christo- 
pher Columbus,  a  native  of  Genoa — an  expedition  having 
been  fitted  out  for  that  purpose,  at  his  most  earnest  solicita- 
tions, by  the  Spanish  government.  The  project  of  seeking 
for  a  Continent  west  of  the  Atlantic,  had  long  been  entertain- 
ed by  Columbus  ;  but  notwithstanding  the  perseverance  and 
fortitude  with  which  he  brought  it  to  a  successful  termination, 
he  was  defrauded  of  the  just  right  of  associating  his  name 
with  this  vast  portion  of  the  earth.  In  this  he  was  supplant- 
ed by  Amerigo  Vespucci,  a  native  of  Florence,  Avho  in  1499 
went  on  a  voyage  to  America,  and  who  published  an  account 
of  his  adventures  so  ingeniously  framed,  as  to  make  it  ap- 
pear that  he  had  the  glory  of  first  discovering  the  continent. 

2.  But  the  English  were  the  second  people  that  discovered 
the  new  world,  and  the  first  that  discovered  the  continent  of 
America.  On  the  24th  of  June,  1497,  Giovanni  Caboto,  (or 
Cabot.)  and  his  son  Sebastian,  who  were  commissioned  by 
Henry  Vlll.  to  sail  in  quest  of  new  countries,  discovered  a 
large  inland,  to  which  they  gave  the  name  of  Prima  Vesta,  or 
first  seen  ;  now  called  Newfoundland.  From  this  they  steered 
to  the  north,  in  search  of  a  passage  to  India;  but  finding  ii« 
appearance  of  a  passage,  they  tacked  about,  and  ran  a-s  far  as 
Florida,  the  island  of  Cuba,  as  he  relates,  oemg  on  his  left 

3.  On  the  accession  of  Elizabeth  to  the  crown  of  Englami 
a  period  commenced,  highly  auspicious  to  mercantile  exten.- 
sion.  The  coast  of  Labrador  was  explored  by  Martin  Fro 
bisher,  under  her  auspices,  in  the  years  1576,  '7,  '8;  and  Sir 
Francis  Drake,  about  this  time,  accomplished  his  celebrated 
voyage  around  the  globe.  ^ 

4.  In  1584,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  a  favorite  at  that  time  of  the 
queen,  despatched  two  small  vessels,  unde-r  the  command  of 
Philip  Amidas  and  Arthur  Barlow,  which  reached  the  coast 
of  North  Carolina  on  the  4th  of  July,  making  their  passage 


230  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    III. 

in  sixlv-sevcn  day^  by  way  oi"  ihe  Canary  islands  and  the 
West  indies.  On  their  return,  Amidas  and  Barlow  gave  a 
splendid  descri[)(ian  of  the  country — of  its  beauty,  fertility, 
mildness  of  climate,  and  serenity  of  atmosphere  ;  and  Eliza- 
beth s^ave  it  the  name  of  Virginia. 

5.  In  1585,  Sir  Walter  Raleigli  fitted  out  a  squadron  of  se- 
ven small  vessels,  with  one  hundred  and  eighty  adventurer*, 
which  sailed  from  Plimouth,  under  the  command  of  Sir  Rich- 
ard Greenville.  This  colony  was  left  on  the  island  of  Roa- 
noke, under  the  care  of  Captain  Lane  ;  but  through  bad  man-, 
agement,  turning  all  their  attention  to  the  search  for  gold  and 
silver,  they  were  soon  assailed  by  a  two-fold  calamity — the 
hostility  of  the  natives  and  the  prospect  of  famine.  Sir 
Francis  Drake,  on  his  return  from  the  West  Indies,  at  the 
unanimous  request  of  the  colonists,  carried  them  back  to 
England,  a»id  tJjus  ended  the  ill-conducted  experiment,  after 
a  trial  of  nine  months.  Early  in  the  following  year,  three 
more  vessels  arrived  at  the  same  spot,  with  one  hundred  and 
fifty  settlers ;  but  misfortune  pursued  this  infant  settlement. 
The  threatened  Spanish  armada  engrossed  the  attention  of 
the  parent  country,  the  colony  received  no  supplies,  ii^nd  the 
inhabitants  perished  miserably  by  famine,  or  by  the  hands  of 
their  surrounding  enemies. 

6.  Sir  Walter. Ralei'^h  being  engaged  in  other  ambitious 
tndertakings,  so  vast  and  various  as  were  beyond  his  power 
to  accomplish,  and  becoming  cold  to  the  unprofitable  scheme 
«f  ejecting  settlements  in  America,  assigned  his  interest  in 
7liat  country  to  Sir  Thomas  Smith  and  a  company  of  mer- 
chants in  London,  in  1596.  Tliese  were  satisfied  for  the  pre- 
sent to  pursue  a  petty  traffic  with  the  natives,  and  made  no 
attempt  to  take  possession  of  the  soil. 

7.  But  in  the  succeeding  reign  of  James,  who  having  con- 
Ciided  an  amicable  treaty  with  Spain,  and  terminated  a  te- 
thous  war,  the  period  was  more  auspicious  for  settlements  in 
America.  The  attention  of  the  monarch  was  called  to  this 
subject  by  the  efibrts  of  distinguished  geographers  and  men 
«f  science.  James  divided  into  districts  of  nearly  equal  extent, 
inat  portion  of  North  America  which  stretches  from  the  34th 
»o  the  4oih  degree  of  north  latitude,  excepting  the  territory 
of  any  other  Christian  prince  or  people  already  occupied ; 
one  called  the  First,  or  South  Colony,  the  otherthe  Second, 
^r  North  Colony  of  Virginia. 

S.  In  1G06,  he  authorized  certain  gentlemen,  mostly  resi- 
dents of  Londr^n,  to  settle  in  a  limited  district  of  the  former: 
an  equal  extent  of  the  latter  he  allotted  to  several  gentlemen 
of  Bristol,  Plymouth,  and  other  parts  of  the  west  ofEngland. 


Chap.  I.  American  history.  231 

These  grants  laid  the  first  foundation  of  states  which  hi  a 
few  centuries  were  destined  to  become  rivals  to  the  mother 
country  in  wealth,  in  science,  and  in  power. 

9.  The  supreme  government  of  the  colonies  was  vested  ia 
a  council  resident  in  England,  to  be  nominated  by  the  king; 
the  subordinate  jurisdiction  in  a  council  which  was  to  reside 
in  America,  and  also  to  be  named  by  the  crown,  and  to  act 
conformably  to  its  instructions.  Whatever  was  required  for 
their  sustenance,  or  for  the  support  of  commerce,  he  permit- 
ted to  be  shipped  from  England  free  of  duty,  during  the  space 
of  seven  years;  and  as  an  incitement  to  industry,  granted 
them  the  liberty  of  trading  with  other  nations,  appropriating 
the  duties  to  be  laid  on  foreign  traffic  for  twenty-one  years, 
as  a  fund  for  their  own  exclusive  benefit. 

10.  A  vessel  of  one  hundred  tons,  and  two  barques,  under 
the  command  of  Captain  Newport,  sailed  with  one  hundred 
and  five  men,  destined  to  remain  in  the  country:  among 
these  was  a  Mr.  Percy,  brother  of  the  earl  of  Northumber- 
land, and  several  officers  who  had  served  with  reputation  in 
the  preceding  reign.  The  first  land  that  Avas  discovered  was 
a  promontory,  the  southern  boundary  of  the  Chesapeake, 
April,  1G07:  this  was  named  cape  Henry,  in  honor  of  the 
prince  of  Wales.  The  spacious  inlet  was  entered,  and  the 
expedition  coasted  the  southern  shore,  and  up  a  river  sixty 
miles,  called  by  the  natives  Powhatan,  to  which  the  English 
gave  the  name  of  James  River,  in  honor  of  their  sovereign. 
Here  a  site  was  fixed  for  the  infant  settlement,  which  was 
named  James  Town. 

11.  Imprudent  in  their  conduct  toward  the  natives,  this 
feeble  society  was  early  involved  in  war.  Scarcity  of  provi- 
sions introduced  diseases;  and  in  a  few  months  half  their 
original  number  were  swept  away,  and  the  remainder  left 
sickly  and  dejected. 

12.  The  government  soon  devolved  on  Captain  John  Smith, 
who  was  originally  one  of  the  council  appointed  by  the  king, 
but  who  had  unjustly  been  deprived  of  his  authority  by  tiie 
colonists.  This  gentleman,  who  was  emphatically  the  fa- 
ther of  Virginia,  was  a  native  of  Lincolnshire:  he  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  feats  of  courage  and  chivalry,  particu- 
larly while  engaged  in  the  Hungarian  army  against  the  Turks. 
His  undaunted  temper,  deeply  tinctured  with  the  romantic 
spirit  of  the  times,  was  happily  adapted  to  the  present  ti-ying 
situation  of  the  colony. 

13.  Soon  after  he  had  been  called  as  their  leader,  while 
hunting  in  the  woods,  he  was  attacked  by  two  hundred  In- 
dians, who  poured  in  upon  him  a  continued  flight  of  arrows. 


232  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   III, 

After  p<'.rforming  wonderful  feats,  he  sunk  in  the  unequal 
contest,  and  was  made  a  prisoner.  Charmed  by  his  arts  and 
his  valor,  they  released  him  from  captivity.  Afterwards  he 
was  beset  by  three  hundred  more  of  these  ferocious  people, 
pursued  into  a  marsh,  and,  after  he  had  thrown  away  his 
arms,  which  he  could  no  longer  use  hy  reason  of  the  cold,  he 
was  taken  and  carried  in  triumph  to  Powhatan,  the  princi- 
pal chieftain  of  Virginia. 

14.  Here  the  doom  of  death  was  pronounced  upon  him, 
and  he  was  about  to  receive  the  fatal  blow,  when  the  favorite 
daughter  of  Powhatan,  interposed  in  his  behalf.  This  amia- 
ble child  (not  then  thirteen  years  of  age)  not  only  prevented 
the  execution  of  Smith  by  her  entreaties  and  tears,  but  caused 
him  to  be  set  at  liberty,  and  sent  him,  from  time  to  time,  sea- 
sonable presents  of  provisions. 

15.  The  colony  w^as  n«w  reduced  to  thirty-eight  persons. 
Soon  after,  however,  succors  arrived  from  England,  and  an 
addition  of  one  hundred  new  planters  was  added  to  their  num- 
ber. But  the  culture  of  the  land,  and  other  useful  employ- 
ments were  neglected,  in  the  futile  idea  that  gold  had  been 
discovered  issuing  from  a  small  stream  which  emptied  into 
James  River.  The  effects  of  the  delusion  Averesoon  severe- 
ly felt  in  the  prospect  of  approaching  famine.  In  the  hope 
of  obtaining  relief,  Smith,  in  a  small  open  boat,  and  with  a 
feeble  crew,  went  in  search  of  aid  from  the  Indians. 

16.  In  two  diiferent  excursions,  that  occupied  upward  of 
four  months,  he  visited  all  the  countries  on  the  eastern  and 
western  shores  of  the  Chesapeake  bay,  entering  the  principal 
creeks,  and  tracing  the  rivers  as  far  as  their  falls,  and  ob- 
tained a  supply  of  food  for  the  suffering  colony.  In  these 
tours,  he  sailed  upwards  of  three  thousand  miles,  amidst  al- 
most incredible  hardships,  and  brought  back  with  him  an 
account  of  that  large  tract  of  country,  now  comprehended 
in  the  two  states  of  Virginia  and  Maryland,  so  full  and  cor- 
rect, that  his  map  is  the  original  from  which  all  subsequent 
delineations  have  been  formed  until  lately. 

17.  About  this  period,  the  old  charter  being  found  inconve- 
nient and  oppressive,  a  new  charter  was  granted  by  James, 
by  which  the  boundaries  of  the  colony  were  enlarged ;  the 
council  in  Virginia  was  abolished,  and  the  government  vest- 
ed entirely  in  one  residing  in  London,  the  members  of  which 
were  to  be  chosen  by  the  proprietors,  and  these  to  nominate 
a  governor,  who  was  to  reside  in  Virginia,  and  carry  their 
orders  into  execution. 

IS.  Lord  Delaware  v^'as  at  first  appointed  to  this  office ; 
but  as  this  nobleman  could  not  immediately  leave  England, 


Chap.  L  American  history.  233 

The  pov/er  was  ^^ested  in  Sir  Thomas  Gates  and  Sir  George 
Somers,  who  were  despatoiied  from  En^^land  with  five  hun- 
dred phmters.  A  violent  hurricane  separated  the  fleet  on 
their  way  ;  and  the  ships  without  the  officers  only  arrived  at 
James  Town.  Presently  every  thing  was  reduced  to  a  state 
of  anarchy  ;  Captain  Smith,  at  once  the  shield  and  the  sword 
of  the  colony,  being  disabled  by  an  accidental  explosion  of 
gun-powder,  the  wretchedness  which  followed  is  beyond  de- 
scription ;  and  the  arrival  of  Gates  and  Somers,  Avho  had 
been  cast  away  on  one  of  the  Bermuda  islands,  although  it 
saved  the  wretched  survivors  at  James  Town  from  immediate 
death,  was  unable  to  preserve  them  till  autumn. 

19.  Nothing  remained  but  to  seek  immediate  assistance  ; 
and  with  only  sixteen  days'  provision,  the  colony  set  sail,  in 
hopes  of  reaching  the  banks  of  Newfoundland,  and  getting 
relief.  But  before  they  had  arrived  at  the  mouth  of  the  river 
they  met  Lord  Delaware,  who  brought  a  large  supply  of  sus- 
tenance, new  settlers,  and  every  thing  requisite  either  for 
cultivation  or  defense.  Under  the  skilful  administration  of 
this  nobleman,  the  colony  began,  once  more,  to  assume  a 
promising  appearance.  He  was  succeeded  by  Sir  Thomas 
Dale,  who  concluded  a  treaty  of  friendship  with  the  Powha- 
tans,  one  of  the  most  powerful  and  warlike  tribes  of  Virginia. 

20.  Pocahontas,  the  amiable  female  who  had  preserved  the 
life  of  Ca])tain  Smith,  frequently  visited  the  English  settle- 
ments ;  and  during  this  intercourse,  she  was  betrayed  on 
board  a  vessel  and  there  irnfwisoned.  Her  father,  who-  loved 
her  with  the  most  ardent  aflection,  was  obliged  to  discontinue 
hostilities  on  such  conditions  as  were  dictated  by  his  treache- 
rous enemy.  She  was  afterwards  solicited  by  Mr.  Rolfe,  a 
respectable  planter  in  marriage.  Powhatan  consented,  and 
the  marriage  was  celebrated  with  extraordinary  pomp. 

21.  From  this  time,  the  most  friendlyintercour.se  subsist- 
ed between  the  colonies  and  the  Indians.  Rolfe  and  his  wife 
went  to  England,  where,  by  the  introduction  of  Captain  Smith 
Pocahontas  was  received  by  the  court  with  the  respect  due 
to  her  birth  ;  she  was  inc-trucied  in  the  Cliristian  religion,  and 
publicly  baptized.  About  returning  to  America,  Pocahontas 
died  at  Gravesend;  leaving  one  son,  from  whom  are  sprung 
some  of  the  most  respectable  families  of  Virginia. 

22.  Hitherto  no  individual  right  of  property  in  land  was 
established  ;  all  was  holden  and  dealt  out  in  common.  But 
the  governor,  in  1616,  divided  a  considerable  extent  of  land 
into  small  lots,  and  granted  one  of  these  for  ever  to  each  in- 
dividual; from  which  period  the  colony  rapidly  extended. 
The  culture  of  tobacco,  since  become  the  great  staple  of  V'r- 


234  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   III, 

ginia,  was  introduced;  but  the  eager  demand  for  the  article 
in  England,  caused  for  some  time  a  scarcity  of  food  in  the 
colony. 

23.  About  this  time,  a  Dutch  ship  from  the  coast  of  Guinea, 
having  sailed  up  .Tames  River,  sold  to  the  iilaniers  a  part  of 
her  negroes  ;  which  race  has  been  augmented  in  Viririniaby 
successive  importations  and  by  natural  increase,  till  it  forms 
more  than  one  third  part  of  the  population. 

24.  In  1619,  Sir  George  Yeardly,  the  governor,  impelled 
by  that  popular  spirit  of  freedom  which  has  ever  been  the 
characteristic  of  Americans,  called  the  first  general  assembly 
which  was  held  in  Virginia.  At  this  time  eleven  corpora- 
tions sent  representatives  to  the  convention,  which  was  per- 
mitted to  assume  legislative  power,  the  natural  privilege  of 
man.  The  supreme  authority  was  lodged,  partly  in  the  go- 
vernor, partly  in  a  council  of  state  appointed  by  the  compa- 
ny, and  in  a  general  assembly,  composed  of  representatives 
of  the  people.  ^ 

25.  A  natural  effect  of  the  happy  change  was  an  increase 
of  agriculture.  The  company  extended  the  trade  of  the  co- 
lony to  Holland  and  other  countries.  This  measure  pro- 
duced the  first  difference  of  sentiment  between  the  colony  and 
the  parent  state.  Jealous  at  seeing  a  commodity,  (t(jbacco,) 
for  which  the  demand  was  daily  increasing,  conducted  to 
foreign  ports  beyond  its  control,  thereby  causing  a  diminu- 
tion of  revenue,  the  latter  endeavored  to  check  this  colonial 
enterpri-;e,  without  considering  that  the  restraint  was  a 
breach  of  the  sacred  princi])les  of  justice. 

26.  The  suspicion  of  the  monarch  James  was  soon  roused, 
and  the  charter,  by  decision  of  the  king's  bench  was  declared 
forfeit  and  the  company  dissolved.  Charles  I.  adopted  all 
his  father's  maxims  in  respect  to  Virginia,  which,  during  a 
great  part  of  his  reign,  knew  no  other  law  that  the  royal  will. 
But  the  colonists  resisting,  Charles  yielded  to  the  popular 
voice:  he  recalled  Harvey,  the  obnoxious  governor,  and  ap- 
pointed Sir  William  Berkeley,  a  man  of  great  abilities,  pru- 
dent, virtuous,  and  popular;  whose  influence  was  directed  in 
finally  restoring  to  the  people  much  the  same  share  in  the 
government,  as  they  had  enjoyed  previously  to  the  revoca- 
tion of  the  charter. 

27.  After  the  execution  of  the  king,  and  the  establishment 
of  the  commonwealth  under  Cronxwell,  through  the  influ- 
ence of  the  governor,  tlie  colonists  continued  to  adhere  to 
their  loyalty  to  the  king.  In  165 1,  the  English  commonwealth 
took  vigorous  measures  to  reduce  the  Virginians  to  obedience, 
A  numerous  squadron,  with  land  forces,  was  dispatched  for 


Chap.  I.  American  history.  235 

this  purpose.  Berkeley  resisted,  but  was  unable  to  maintain 
an  equal  contest,  and  was  soon  defeated.  The  people  were, 
however,  allowed  to  retain  the  privileges  of  citizens;  but 
Berkeley  retired  as  a  private  citizen. 

28.  Cromwell's  parlianient  framed  acts  prohibiting  all  in- 
tercourse between  the  colonies  and  foreign  states,  and  allow- 
ing no  trade  hut  in  English  ships.  On  the  death  of  Matthews, 
the  last  governor  appointed  by  Cromwell,  the  Virgiiuans 
burst  out  in  new  violence.  They  called  Sir  William  Berke- 
ley from  his  retirement,  boldly  erected  t^e  royal  standard, 
and  proclaimed  Charles  II.,  son  of  their  late  monarch,  to  be 
their  lawful  sovereign.  Charles  was  however  soon  placed 
on  the  throne,  and  the  Virginians  were  thus  saved  from  the 
chastisement  to  which  they  were  exposed  by  their  previous 
declaration  in  his  favor.  But  the  new  king  and  parliament 
rewarded  their  fidelity  by  increasing  the  restraints  upon  co- 
lonial commerce ! 

29.  The  number  of  inhabitants  in  Virginia  in  1688,  ex 
ceeded  sixty  thousand  ;  and  its  population  in  the  previous 
twenty-eight  years  was  doubled.  In  1691,  the  college  of 
William  and  Mary  was  founded.  To  aid  in  its  erection 
and  support,  the  sovereigns  whose  name  it  bears,  gave  nearly 
two  thousand  pounds  out  of  their  private  purse,  and  granted 
twenty  thousand  acres  of  land,  and  a  iluty  on  tobacco,  for 
its  further  encouragement.  • 

QUESTIONS. 

When  and  by  whom  was  America  discovered  ? 

By  whom  and  when  was  the  conLiuent  of  North  America  discovered*? 

On  wliat  account  did  Virginja  derive  its  name  t 

Who  maae  tlie  first  attempt  to  colonize  this  part  of  the  continent? 

To  whom  did  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  afterwards  resign  his  interest  in  the  conn- 
Jry  ? 

From  what  did  James  River  take  its  name  ? 

On  what  account  did  Captain  John  Smith  obtain  his  first  release  from  the 
Indians  l 

Wlio  effected  his  second  relea.^e  from  them? 

On  what  account  was  Uie  cultivation  of  the  soil  neglected  by  the  first  coio- 
nists  1 

What  is  the  history  of  Pocahontas  subesquent  to  her  saving  the  life  of  Cap. 
tain  Smith  ? 

Who  first  broufjht  the  African  negroes  info  this  part  of  the  country  T 

Wliat  part  did  the  Virj^iniaus  take  in  relation  to  the  Revolution  of  the  mother 
country  under  Cromwell  7 

What  was  the  population  of  Virginia  in  1688 1 


SECTION    II. 

Settlement  of  Massachusetts, 

].  TuEpartitionof  the  great  territory  of  Virginia  into  North 
and  South  colonies,  has  already  been  mentioned.  Still  more 


236  NEW    ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   III. 

feeble  were  the  operations  of  the  Plymouth  company,  to 
whom  was  assigned  the  conduct  of  the  northern  division,  al- 
though animated  by  the  zeal  of  Sir  John  Popham,  chief  jusr 
tice  of  England,  Sir  Fernando  Gorges,  and  other  public 
spirited  gentlemen  of  the  west. 

2.  In  the  year  1607,  the  same  in  which  James  Town  was 
founded,  a  small  settlement  was  commenced  on  the  river  Sa- 
gadahoc, now  called  the  Kennebec  ;  but  this  was  soon  aban- 
doned. Some  fishing  vessels  visited  Cape  Cod  several  times ; 
among  them,  one  commanded  by  Captain  Smith,  who  re- 
turned with  a  high-wrought  description  of  the  coast  and 
country,  exhibiting  a  map  of  the  bays,  harbors,  &c.,  on 
which  he  inscribed  "  New  England;"  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
delighted  with  the  representations  of  Smith,  immediately 
confirmed  the  name. 

3.  To  the  operations  of  religion,  rather  than  to  the  desire 
of  pecuniary  emolument,  are  the  various  settlements  of  New 
England  indebted  for  their  origin.  The  sacred  rights  of  con- 
science and  of  private  judgment  were  not  then  properly  un- 
derstood; nor  was  the  charity  and  mutual  forbearance  taught 
Christians  by  their  divine  Master,  practised  in  any  country. 
Every  church  employed  the  hand  of  power  in  supporting  its 
own  doctrines,  and  opposing  the  tenets  of  another. 

4.  In  reforming  the  rituals  and  exterior  symbols  of  the 
church  of  England,  Elizabeth,  lest  by  too  wide  a  departure 
from  the  Romish  church,  she  might  alarm  the  populace,  had 
allowed  many  of  the  ancient  ceremonies  to  reman  unaltered. 
With  several  of  these  a  large  number  of  her  subjects  being 
dissatisfied,  they  wished  to  address  their  Creator  according 
to  their  own  opinions,  but  were  subjected  to  very  rigorous 
penalties. 

5.  Those  who  dissented  from  the  established  church  ob- 
tained the  general  name  of  Puritans,  a  term  applied  to  them 
because  they  wished  for  a  purer  form  of  discipline  and  wor- 
ship. Among  the  most  popular  and  strenuous  declaimers 
against  the  established  church,  were  the  Brownists,  a  secL 
formed  about  1581,  by  Robert  Brown,  who  afterwards  re- 
nounced his  principles  of  separation,  and  took  orders  in  the 
church  against  which  he  had  so  loudly  declaimed.  The  Rev. 
John  Robinson,  the  father  of  the  first  settlement  of  New 
England,  is  said  to  have  been  a  follower  of  Brown,  but  after- 
wards renounced  the  principles  of  the  Brownists,  and  be- 
came the  founder  of  a  new  sect,  denominated  Independents, 

6.  Mr.  Robinson  affirmed  that  all  Christian  congregations 
were  so  many  independent  religious  societies,  that  had  a  right 
to  be  governed  by  their  own  laws,  independent  of  any  foreign 


Chap.  I.  American  history.  237 

jurisdiction.  Being  persecuted  in  England,  he,  with  many- 
others  embracing  his  opinions,  removed  to  Holland,  where 
they  formed  churches  upon  their  own  principles.  Remaining 
there  some  years,  the  society  were  desirous  to  remove  to 
some  other  place :  they  turned  their  thoughts  to  America, 
and  applied  to  James,  who,  though  he  refused  to  give  them 
any  positive  assurance  of  toleration,  seems  to  have  intimated 
some  promise  of  passive  indulgence. 

7.  They  readily  procured  a  tract  of  land  from  the  Ply- 
mouth Company.  One  hundred  and  twenty  persons  sailed 
from  Plymouth  in  1620,  their  destination  being  Hudson's 
river :  by  some  treachery  of  the  Dutch,  who  then  contem- 
plated, and  afterwards  effected  a  settlement  at  that  place, 
they  were  carried  to  the  north,  and  landed  on  Cape  Cod,  the 
eleventh  of  November  of  that  year. 

8.  They  chose  for  their  residence  a  place  called  by  the 
-Indians  Patuxet,  to  which  they  gave  the  name  of  Nev/  Ply- 
mouth. Before  spring,  half  their  number  were  cut  off  by 
famine  or  disease.  In  a  few  days  after  they  landed,  Cnptain 
Standish  w^as  engaged  in  skirmishing  with  the  Indians; 
and  the  many  disasters  which  followed,  together  with  the 
implacable  hostility  of  the  Indians,  which  always  has  sub- 
sisted, are  perhaps  more  owing  to  the  imprudence  of  the  first 
settlers,  than  to  the  bad  disposition  of  the  natives. 

9.  This  colony,  like  that  of  Virginia,  at  first  held  their 
goods  and  property  in  common ;  and  their  progress  was  re- 
tarded as  well  by  this  circumstance,  as  by  the  impulse  of 
imaginary  inspiration,  which  regulated  all  their  actions.  At 
the  end  of  ten  years,  these  v/ell-meaning  people,  when  they 
became  incorporated  w^ith  their  more  powerfi>l  neighbors  of 
Massachusetts  Bay,  did  not  exceed  three  hundred. 

10.  In  the  year  1629,  Mr.  White,  a  non-conformist  minister 
at  Dorchester,  having  formed  an  association,  purchased  from 
the  Plymouth  company  a  tract  extending  in  length  from 
three  miles  north  of  Merrimac  river,  to  three  miles  south  of 
Charles  river,  and  in  breadth  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  South- 
ern ocean ;  and  obtained  a  charter  from  Charles,  similar  to 
that  given  to  the  two  Virginian  companies  by  James.  Five 
ships  were  fitted  out,  on  board  of  which  were  embarked  up- 
wards of  three  hundred  souls,  amongst  whom  were  several 
eminent  non-conforming  ministers. 

11.  On  their  arrival,  they  found  the  remnant  of  a  small 
party  that  had  left  England  the  precedins:  year,  under  the 
conduct  cf  Mr.  Endicott,  who  had  been  appointed  by  his 
companions  deputy  governor.  They  were  settled  at  a  place 
called  by  the  Indians  Naumkeag,  to  v»4iich  he  had  given  the 


238  NBW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRtJII. 

scripture  name  of  Salem.  The  new  colonists  immediately 
formed  a  church,  elected  a  pas'tor,  teacher,  and  e!d(T,  disre- 
garding the  intentions  of  the  kmg.  The}^  disencumtx  red 
their  public  "worship  of  every  superiluous  cerenx)!!}^,  jand  re- 
duced it  to  the  lowest  standard  of  Caivinistic  simj)iicity. 

12.  But  much  as  we  respect  that  noble  spirit  'whicli  ena- 
bled them  to  part  with  their  native  soil,  we  must  condemn 
the  persecuting  spirit  of  the  colonists  themselves.  Some  of 
the  colonists,  retainin^^  a  liigh  veneration  for  the  ritual  of  the 
church  of  England,  refused  to  join  the  colonial  state  esta- 
blisliment,  and  assembled  separately  to  worsUip  ;  Endicott 
called  before  him  two  of  the  principal  offenders,  expellfd 
them  from  the  colony,  and  sent  them  home  in  the  first  s^^ilps 
returning  to  England.  '*^ 

13.  The  go^  ernment  of  the  colony  was  sooh  transferned  to 
America,  and  vested  in  those  memberg  of  the  company  who 
should  reside  there.  John  Winthrop  was  appointed  govern- 
or, and  Thomas  Dudley  deputy  governor,  with  eighteen  as- 
sistants. In  the  course  of  the  next  year,  1G30,  fifteen  hundred 
persons  arrived  in  Massachusetts  from  England,  amongst 
whom  were  several  distinguished  families,  some  of  them  in 
easy,  and  others  in  affluent  circumstances;  and  Boston, 
Charlestown,  Dorchester,  Koxbiiry,  and  utlier  towns  were 
settled. 

14.  The  first  general  court,  held  at  Charlestown,  ventured 
to  deviate  from  tlieir  charter  in  a  matter  of  great  moment :  a 
law  was  passed,  declaring  that  none  should  be  freemen,  or  be 
entitled  to  any  share  in  the  government,  except  those  who 
had  been  received  as  members  of  the  church. 

15.  The  fimatical  spirit  continued  to  increase.  A  minister 
of  Salem,  named  Roeer  Williams,  having  conceived-.an  aver- 
sion to  tlie  cross  of  St.  George,  a  symbol  in  the  English  stand-  < 
ard,  declaimed  against  it  with  great  vehemence,  as  a  relic'bf . 
superstition  ;  and  Endicott,  in  a  transport  of  zeal,  cut  out  tfie 
cross  from  tlie  ensign  displayed  before  the  governor's  gale 
This  frivolous  matter  divided  the  colony  ;  but  the  matter 
was  at  length  compromised  by  retaining  the  cross  in  the  en- 
Bigns  of  forts  and  vessels,  and  erasing  it  from  the  co.lurs  of 
Ihe  militia, 

QUESTIONS. 

What  was  the  oripin  of  the  Plyroouth  colony  ? 

When  v/as  the  pettJpnient  made  7 

or  kow  jnany  por^wns  tlid  the  colony  at  first  consist? 

Of  how  many  did  it  consist  ten  years  afterwards? 

ITow  mtmy  emigrants  ouruo  to  Massaciiusetis  m  the  year  IGSOT 


C/fiAP.  I.  AMl^lilCA.N    HIoTGRY.  239 


SBCTION   m. 

Scttlejnt'nt  of  BJuyle  Islaml,  Connecticict,  New  Hampshire^ 
Maine,  MaTyland,  and  North  and  South  Carolimi. 

1.  In  1680,  Roger  Williams  was  banished  from  Salem ;  and, 
accompanied  by  many  of  his  hearers,  the  exile  went  south, 
purchased  a  tract  of  land  of  the  natives,  to  which  he  gave 
.he  name  of  Providence:  and  a  Mr.  Coddington,  with  seventy- 
six  others,  exiled  from  Boston,  bought  a  fertile  island  on  Nar- 
raganset  }3ay,  that  acquired  the  name  of  Rhode  Island.  Mr. 
Coddington  embraced  the  sentiments  of  the  Quakers,  or 
Friends  •,  he  received  a  charter  from  the  British  parlianv^nt, 
in  wiiich  it  was  ordered,  that  "  none  were  ever  to  be  molested 
for  any  difference  of  opinion  in  religi(ni3  matters:"  yet,  the 
very  first  assembly  convened  under  this  authority,  excluded 
Roman  Catholics  from  voting  at  elections,  and  from  every 
office  in  the  government  1 

2.  To  similar  causes  the  state  of  Connecticut  is  indebted 
for  its  origin.  Mr.  Hooker,  a  favorite  minister  of  Massachu- 
setts, with  about  one  hvmdred  families,  after  a  fatiguing 
marcli,  settled  on  the  western  side  of  the  river  Connecticut, 
and  laid  the  foundation  of  Hartford,  Springfield,  and  Weathers 
field.  'J'heir  right  to  tins  territory  was  disputed  by  the  Dutcli, 
who  had  settled  at  the  mouth  of  the  Hudsoji,  and  by  the  lords 
Sa;^-and-Seal  and  Brook.  The  Dutch  Avere  soon  expelled , 
and  the  others  uniting  with  ttie  colony,  all  were  inet^rporated 
by  a  royal  charter. 

3.  New  Hampshire  was  first  settled  in  the  spring  of  1623, 
under  the  patronage  of  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges,  Captain  John 
Mason,  and  several  others,  who  sent  over  David  Tliompson, 
a  Scot,  Edward  and  William  Hilton,  and  a  number  of  people, 
furnished. with  the  requisite  supplies.  One  company  landed 
flt  a  place  called  Little  Harbor  ;  the  others  settled  at  Dover. 
Mr.AVheelwright,  a  clergyman,  banished  from  Massachusetts, 
founded  Exeter  in  1638. 

4.  Maine  was  not  permanently  settled  until  1635.  Gorges 
obtained  a  grant  of  tliis  territory,  which  remained  under  its 
own  government  until  1652,  when  its  soil  and  jurisdiction, 
as  far  as  the  middle  of  Casco  Bay,  was  claimed  by  Massa 
ehusetts. 

5.  The  mutual  hostility  of  tlie  Knelish  and  Indians  rnm- 
menced  witli  the  first  settlement ;  but  it  was  not  until  the 
year  1637,  tliat  a  systematic  warfare  was  begun.     The  Pe 
quods,  who  brought  into  the  field  more  than  a  thousand  war- 


240  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   III. 

riorSj  were  exterminated  in  a  few  months  by  the  combined 
troops  of  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut.  In  the  night,  the 
Pequods  were  attacked,  near  the  head  of  Mistic,  by4he  Con- 
necticut troops  and  Narraganset  Indians,  commanded  by- 
Captain  Mason  :  in  a  few  moments,  five  or  six  hundred  lay 
gasping  in  their  blood,  or  v/ere  silent  in  the  arms  of  death. 
"  The  darkness  of  the  forest,"  observes  a  New  England  au- 
thor, "the  blaze  of  the  dwellings,  the  ghastly  looks  of  the 
dead,  the  groans  of  the  dying  the  shrieks  of  the  women  and 
children,  and  the  yells  of  the  friendly  savages,  presented  a 
scene  of  sublimity  and  terror  indescribably  dreadful." 

6.  In  1643,  an  alliance  for  mutual  defense  was  formed  be- 
tween the  New  England  colonies,  excepting  Rhode  Island, 
which  Massachusetts  was  unwilling  to  admit.  This  alliance 
continued  until  the  charters  were  annulled  by  James  the 
Second. 

7.  Up  to  163S,  twenty-one  thousand  British  subjects  had 
settled  in  New  England  ;  and  the  country  had  begun  to  ex- 
tend the  fisheries,  and  to  export  corn  and  lumber  to  the  West 
Indies.  In  1656,  the  persecution  of  the  (Quakers  was  di  its 
height.  A  number  of  these  inoffensive  people  having  arrived 
in  ihe  Massachusetts  colony,  from  England  and  Barbadoes, 
and  given  offense  to  the  clergy  of  the  established  church  by 
tfie  novelty  of  their  religion,  were  imprisoned,  and  by  the 
first  opportunity  sent  away. 

8.  A  law  was  passed,  which  prohibited  masters  of  ships 
from  bringing  Gtuakers  into  Massachusetts,  and  themselves 
from  coming  there,  under  a  graduated  penalty,  rising,  in  case 
of  a  return  from  banishment  to  death.  In  consequence, 
several  were  hanged  !  These  proceedings  are  still  the  more 
reprehensible  and  remarkable,  when  contrasted  with  a  pre- 
vious declaration  of  their  government,  which  tendered  "  hos- 
pitality and  succor  to  ail  christian  strangers,  flying  from 
wars,  famine,  or  the  tyranny  of  persecution."  The  Ana- 
baptists were  also  persecuted ;  many  were  disfranchised, 
and  some  were  banished. 

9.  On  ihe  accession  of  James  II.,  several  of  the  New  Eng- 
land colonies  were  deprived  of  their  charters  ;  but  these,  with 
various  unimportant  modifications,  were  restored  after  the 
revolution.  Sir  William  Phipps,  a  native  of  Maine,  who 
rose  to  wealth  and  power  in  a  manner  the  most  extraordina- 
ry, was  the  first  governor  of  Massachusetts  un-der  the  new 
charter.  With  a  force  of  seven  hundred  men,  he  wrested 
from  the  French,  L'Acadie,  now  called  Nova  Scotia.  He 
afterwards  made  an  unsuccessful  attempt  on  Q,uebec,  with 
the  loss  of  one  thousand  men. 


Chap.  I.  American  history.  241 

10.  The  new  charter,  whilst  it  curtailed  the  liberties,  ex- 
tended the  territory  of  Massachusetts ;  to  it  were  now  annex- 
ed New  Plymouth,  Maine,  and  Nova  Scotia,  with  all  the 
country  between  the  latter  and  the  river  St.  Lawrence ;  also 
Elizabeth  Islands,  Martha's  Vineyard,  and^Nantucket.  The 
people,  however,  had  just  reason  to  complain  that  they  no 
longer  chose  their  governor,  under  whose  control  was  the 
militia,  and  who  levied  taxes  without  their  consent,  and 
tried  capital  offenses. 

11.  About  this  time  the  pillars  of  society  were  shaken  to 
the  foundation,  in  and  about  Salem,  by  imaginary  witch- 
craft. The  delusion  commenced  in  Salem  village,  now  Dan- 
vers,  in  the  family  of  Rev.  Samuel  Paris.  Two  young  girls, 
one  a  daughter  of  Mr.  Paris,  aged  9,  the  other  a  niece,  aged 
11,  were  affected  with  singular  nervous  disorders,  which,  as 
they  baffled  the  skill  of  the  physician,  were  thought  to  pro- 
ceed from  an  "  evil  hand."  The  children  were  believed  by 
the  neighbors  to  be  bewitched,  and  the  belief,  sanctioned  by 
the  opinion  of  the  physician,  became  general  throughout  the 
vicinity. 

12.  The  more  the  girls  were  noticed  and  pitied,  the  more 
smgular  and  extravagant  was  their  conduct.  Upon  the  ad- 
vice of  the  neighboring  ministers,  two  or  three  private  fasts 
were  first  kept ;  afterwards  a  public  one  in  the  village  and 
other  congregations ;  and  finally,  the  general  court  appointed 
a  fast  through  the  colony.  This  course  gave  the  occurrences 
a  solemn  aspect,  and  probably  contributed  to  the  public  cre- 
dulity, till  the  supposed  witchcraft  had  extended  throughout 
a  great  part  of  the  county  of  Essex.  The  infatuation  pre- 
vailed from  March  to  October,  1692,  during  which  time 
twenty  persons,  men  and  women,  were  executed.  It  was 
then  that  suspicion  roused  from  its  lethargy  ;  condemnation 
ceased;  the  accusers  were  silent;  those  under  sentence 
were  reprieved,  and  afterwards  pardoned. 

13.  In  the  years  1627,-?38,  '63,  and  '70,  New  England  ex- 
perienced violent  earthquakes.  In  the  year  1638,  Harvard 
College,  near  Boston,  the  oldest  seminary  of  learning  in  the 
United  States,  was  founded.  .Four  hundred  pounds  were 
voted  to  it  by  the  general  court ;  and  this  sum  wris  nearly 
doubled  by  a  bequest  from  Mr.  John  Harvard,  a  minister  of 
Charlestown.  This  institution  is  now  the  most  richly  en 
dowed  of  all  the  American  colleges. 

14.  Yale  College,  at  New  Haven,  was  founrled  in  1701, 
ten  years  after  that  of  William  and  Mary,  in  Virginia;  and 
Dartmouth  College,  in  New  Hampshire,  was  founded  in  1769. 
The  first  printing  press  established  ia  the  Britisli  colonies 

16 


242  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   III. 

v/as  in  1639,  at  Cambridge,  superintended  by  Stephen  Daye ; 
but  erected  chiefly  at  the  expense  of  Mr.  Glover,  an  English 
clergyman,  who  died  on  his  passage  to  America. 

15.  Maryland,  the  first  colony  that,  from  its  beginning, 
was  directly  governed  as  a  province  of  the  British  empire, 
was  founded  by  Sir  George  Calvert,  baron  of  Baltimore  in 
Ireland,  a  Roman  Catholic  nobleman,  born  in  England.  He 
first  went  to  Virginia  ;  but  meeting  an  unwelcome  reception 
there,  on  account  of  his  religion,  he  fixed  his  attention  to  the 

.  lands  north  of  the  Potomac,  and  obtained  a  grant  of  them 
jjjl  from  Charles  I.  This  country  was  called  Maryland,  -in 
'^^■'honor  of  the  queen,  Henrietta  Maria. 

16.  The  religious  toleration  established  by  the  charter,  the 
first  draft  of  which  is  said  to  have  been  written  by  Sir  George 
hmiself,  is  honorable  to  his  memory.  The  grant  was  given 
to  his  eldest  son,  Ceciiius,  who  succeeded  to  his  titles ;  but 
Leonard  Calvert,  brother  to  Ceciiius,  was  the  first  governor, 
and  made  the  first  stand,  at  an  island  in  the  Potomac,  which 
he  named  St.  Clement's,  in  1633.  He  made  several  pur- 
chases of  the  Indians,  with  whom  he  cultivated  a  constijnt 
friendship,  as  well  on  the  Potomac  as  on  both  shores  of  the 
Chesapeake. 

17.  Never  did  any  people  enjoy  more  happiness  than  the 
inhabitants  of  Maryland.  Whilst  Virginia  harassed  all 
who  dissented  from  the  English  church,  and  the  northern 
colonies  ail  who  dissented  from  the  puritans,  the  Roman 
Catholics  of  Maryland,  a  sect  who  in  the  old  Avorld  never 
professed  the  doctrine  of  toleration,  received  and  protected 
their  brethren  of  every  christian  church,  and  its  population 
was  rapidly  increased. 

18.  About  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  sope 
emigrants,  chiefly  from  Virginia,  began  a  settlement  in  the 
county  of  Albemarle  ;  and  soon  afterv/ards,  another  estab- 
lishment was  commenced  at  Cape  Fear,  by  adventurers  from 
Massachusetts.  These  were  held  together  by  the  laws  of 
nature  without  any  written  code,  for  some  time.  But  Charles 

.  II.  compelled  the  colonists  to  become  subservient  to  his 
rule,  and  granted  to  Lord  Clarendon  and  others  the  tract  of 
land  which  now  composes  North  and  South  Carolina ;  per- 
fect freedom  in  religion  was  granted  in  the  charter. 

i9.  The  first  settlement  was  placed  under  the  command 
of  Sir  William  Berkelev,  Governor  of  Viririnia,  who  assigned 
his  authority  to  Mr.  Drummond.  In  1671,  the  proprietors 
extended  their  settlements  to  the  banks  of  Ashley  and  Coop- 
er rivers,  where  Charlestown  now  stands;  and  eventually 
this  became  the  separate  state  of  South  Carolina.  The  culture 


Chap.  I.  American  history.  243 

of  cotton  commenced  here  in  1700,  and  that  of  indigo  in 
1748. 

QUESTIONS.  1^ 

WImt  \od  to  the  first  settlement  of  Rhode  Island  and  Providence  plantations  7 
Who  laid  the  foundation  of  Hartford,  SpriDjrfield,  and  Weathersfield  1 
When  and  by  whom  was  New  Hampshire  first  setthd  7 
When  did  a  systematic  warfare  commence  between  tlie  Enghsh  and  Indians! 
What  number  of  British  subjects  had  settled  in  New  England  up  to  163S 1 
What  instances  of  religious  persecution  took  place  m  Massachusetts  about 
tile  middle  of  the  17th  century  1 
Where  and  what  were  the  particulars  of  the  Salem  witchcraft  1 
When  was  Harvard  colle»re  founded  1 
From  whom  did  Maryland  derive  its  name,  and  by  whom  was  it  first  settled  % 


SECTION   IV. 

Settlement  of  New  York,  New  Jersey,  Pennsylvania^  Dela* 
ware,  and  Georgia. 

1.  New  YoRKwas  first  settled  by  the  Dutch,  and  was  by  them 
held  for  about  half  a  century.  It  was  however  claimed  by 
Enojand  as  the  first  discoverer.  Peter  Stuyvesant,  the  third 
and  last  Dutch  governor,  began  his  administration  in  1647, 
and  was  distinguished  no  less  for  his  fidelity  than  his  vigi- 
lance. In  1664  ilie  colony  surrendered  to  the  English  ;  and 
the  whole  territory  now  comprising  New  York,  New  Jersey, 
together  with  Pennsylvania,  Delaware,  and  a  part  of  Con- 
necticut, was  assigned  by  Charles  II.  to  his  brother  the  Duke 
of  York.  The  Dutch  inhabitants  remained  ;  Stuyvesant  re- 
tained his  estate,  and  died  in  the  colony.  The  country  was 
governed  by  the  duke's  officers  until  1688;  when  representa- 
tives of  the  people  were  allowed  a  voice  in  the  legislature. 

2.  In  1664,  the  Duke  of  York  sold  that  part  of  his  grant 
now  called  New  Jersey  to  Lord  Berkeley  and  Sir  George 
Carteret.  It  had  previously  been  settled  by  Hollanders, 
S^vedes,  and  Danes.  The  county  of  Bergen  was  the  first 
inhabited  ;  and  very  soon  the  towns  of  Elizabeth,  Newark, 
Middletcnvn,  and  Shrewsbury,  Vv^ere  settled.  The  college, 
originally  established  at  Newark,  was,  in  1748,  finally  fixed 
at  Princeton:  its  chief  benefactor  was  Governor  Belcher. 
Among  the  governors  of  New  Jersey  was  the  celebrated  Bar- 
clay, author  of  the  Apology  for  the  Quakers,  of  which  sect 
a  large  number  had  established  themselves  there. 

3.  Pennsylvania  was  founded  by  William  Penn,  son  of  a 
distinguished  admiral  of  the  same  name.  From  principle 
this  excellent  man  joined  the  Quakers,  then  an  obscure  and 
persecuted  sect.  As  one  of  the  members,  and  a  preacher, 
Penn  was  repeatedly  imprisoned  ;  but  he  pleaded  his  own 
cause  with  great  boldness,  and  procured  his  own  acquittal 


244  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   III. 

from  an  independent  jury,  who  with  himself  were  imprison- 
ed until  an  unjust  penalty  was  paid. 

4  In  1631,  he  purchased  of  Charles  the  tract  now  called 
Pennsylvania,  Im  an  acquittance  of  sixteen  thousand  pounds 
dae  to  his  father:  and  soon  after,  he  obtained  from  the  Duke 
of  York  a  conveyance  of  the  town  of  New  Castle,  with  the 
country  which  now  forms  the  state  of  Delaware.  The  first 
colony,  which  were  chiefly  of  his  own  sect,  began  their  set- 
tlement above  the  confluence  of  the  Schuylkill  and  Delaware 
rivers.  In  August,  1682,  this  amiable  man  embarked,  with 
about  two  thousand  emigrants,  and  in  October,  arrived  in  the 
Delaware. 

5.  Besides  his  own  people,  he  was  aided  in  the  first  settle- 
ment by  Swedes,  Dutch.  Finlanders,  and  other  English.  The 
first  legislative  assembly  was  held  at  Chester,  at  that  time 
called  Upland.  Among  the  first  laws  was  one  which  de- 
clared "  that  none,  acknowledging  one  God,  and  living 
peaceable  in  society,  should  be  molested  for  his  opinions  or 
his  practice;  nor  be  compelled  to  frequent  or  maintain  jany 
ministry  whatever."  Philadelphia  was  begun  in  1683,  and 
in  1699,  it  contained  seven  hundred  houses,  and  about  four 
thousand  inhabitants. 

6.  During  the  first  seventy  years  of  this  settlement,  no 
instance  occurred  of  the  Indians  killing  unarmed  people. 
The  wise  and  good  man,  Penn,  made  every  exertion  and  sa- 
crifice to  promote  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  his  favorite 
colony  ;  and  between  tlie  persecution  he  had  to  encounter  in 
England,  and  the  difficulties  in  Pennsylvania,  his  life  was  a 
continued  scene  of  vexation — his  private  fortune  was  materi- 
ally injured  by  the  advances  he  made— he  was  harassed  by 
his  creditors,  and  obliged  to  undergo  a  temporary  deprivation 
of  his  personal  liberty. 

7.  pie  died  in  London,  in  1718,  leaving  an  inheritance  to 
jiis  children  ultimately  of  immense  value,  which  they  en- 
joyed until  the  revolution,  when  it  was  assigned  to  the  com- 
monwealth for  an  equitable  sum  of  money.  In  the  interval 
between  1730  and  the  war  of  the  revolution,  in  this  state, 
there  was  a  great  influx  of  emigrants,  principally  from  Ger- 
many and  Ireland ;  and  these  people  early  brought  the 
u^seful  arts  and  manufactures  into  Pennsylvania.  To  the 
Germans  she  is  indebted  for  the  spinning  and  weaving  of 
linen  and  woolen  cloths  ;  to  the  Irish,  for  various  trades 
mdispensable  to  useful  agriculture. 

8.  Delaware  was  first  stttled  in  1627,  by  the  Swedes  and 
Finlanders,  and  the  colony  bore  the  name  of  New  Swetlen. 
It  was  afterwards  conquered  by  the  Dutch  from  ISew  York^ 


Chap.  L  American  history.  245 

and  remained  subservient  to  that  colony,  until  it  passed  in- 
to the  hands  of  the  English. 

9.  Georgia  was  the  last  settled  of  the  thirteen  colonies  that 
revoked  from  Britain.  It  received  its  name  from  George  II. 
In  November,  1732,  one  hundred  and  sixteen  persons  embarked 
at  Gravesend,  under  Oglethorpe ;  and  early  in  the  ensuing  year 
arrived  at  Charleston.  From  this  port  they  proceeded  to  their 
destined  territory,  and  laid  the  foundation  of  Savannah. 

10.  The  Spaniards  laid  claim  to  this  territory,  and  made 
extensive  preparations  to  attack  it.  But  through  the  finesse 
of  Oglethorpe,  in  practising  an  innocent  deception,  their 
plans  were  defeated.  For  many  years,  this  settlement  Ian 
guished  from  a  variety  of  causes.  General  Oglethorpe  was 
distinguished  as  a  soldier,  a  statesman,  and  a  philanthropist. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  American  revolution,  he  was  offered 
the  command  of  the  British  army  in  America,  but  this  from 
principle  he  declined.  After  the  contest  was  decided,  he 
died  at  the  age  of  ninety-seven  years,  being  the  oldest  gene- 
ral in  the  British  service. 

QUESTIONS. 

By  whom  was  New  York  first  settled? 

Vv'hcn  was  it  surrendered  to  the  Enj^lish  7 

By  whom,  and  under  what  circunistaace:?,  was  Pennsylvania  settled 

When,  and  by  whom,  was  Georgia  settled? 

SECTION   v. 

IVar  with  France  and  conquest  of  Canada. 

1.  Nrarly  coeval  with  the  first  English  settlemenf-  • 
James  Town,  in  Virginia,  was  the  establishment  of  a  Frenca 
colony  at  Q,uebec,  on  the  great  river  St.  Lawrence.  The 
question  of  boundary  between  England  and  France,  had 
lon^  been  a  subject  of  unavailing  negotiation.  France^ 
besides  having  Canada  in  the  north,  had  also  discovered  and 
settled  on  the  Mississippi  in  the  south  ;  and  in  1753,  she 
strove,  by  a  military  chain,  the  links  of  which  were  to  be 
formed  by  outposts  stretching  along  the  Ohio  and  the  Vakes 
to  connect  these  two  extremities,  and  thus  restrain  the 
British  colonists  to  a  small  territory  on  the  Atlantic  oceai 
if  not  entirely  expel  them  from  the  country. 

2.  The  question  of  jurisdiction  remained  to  be  decided  by 
the  sword.  Repeated  complaints  of  violence  having  come 
to  the  ears  of  the  Governor  of  Virginia,  he  determined  to 
send  a  suitable  person  to  the  French  commander  at  Fort  Du 
Quesne,  (now  Pittsburgh,)  demanding  the  reason  of  hishos 
tile  proceedings,  and  insisting  that  he  should  evacuate  the 
fort  which  he  had  recently  erected.     For  this  arduous  un- 


246  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    III. 

dertaking,  George  Washington,  a  major  of  mililia,  then  lit- 
tle more  than  twenty-one  yeafs  of  age,  offered  his  services. 

3.  The  execution  of  this  task  seems  to  have  been  accom- 
plished with  all  that  prudence  and  courage,  which  were  so 
eminently  displayed  by  tliis  hero  in  afterlife.  At  imminent 
peril,  being  waylaid  and  fired  at  by  the  Indians,  he  not  only 
faithfully  accomplished  the  errand  en  which  he  had  beemsent, 
but  gained  extensive  information  of  the  distances  and  bear- 
ings of  places,  and  of  the  number,  size,  and  strength  of  nearly 
all  the  enemy's  fortresses. 

4.  The  reply  of  the  French  commander  brought  matters 
to  a  crisis;  and  in  1754,  the  Virginia  assembly  organized  a 
regiment,  to  support  the  claims  of  the  English  over  the  ter- 
ritory in  dispute  :  of  this  regiment  a  Mr.  Fry  was  appointed 
colonel,  and  the  young  Washington  lieutenant-colonel.  Col. 
Fry  dying,  the  command  of  the  whole  devolved  on  Wash- 
ington. The  French  having  been  strongly  reinforced,  Wash- 
ington was  obliged  to  fall  back — was  attacked  in  works  wlxich 
he  had  not  time  to  complete,  and,  after  a  brave  defense,  was 
obliged  to  capitulate, — the  enemy  allowing  him  to  march  out 
with  the  honors  of  war,  and  retire  unmolested  to  the  inha- 
bited parts  of  Virginia. 

5.  The  next  year,  1755,  General  Braddock  was  sent  from 
Europe  to  Virginia,  with  two  regiments,  where  he  was  join- 
ed by  as  many  provincials  as  made  his  force  amount  to  twen- 
ty-two hundred.  Braddock  was  a  brave  man,  but  lacked 
that  courtesy  which  could  conciliate  the  Americans,  and  that 
modesty  which  should  profit  from  the  knowledge  of  those 
who  better  knew  the  ground  over  which  he  was  to  pass,  and 
the  mode  of  French  and  Indian  warfare,  than  himself.  He 
pushed  on  incautiously,  until  within  a  few  miles  of  fort  Du 
Quesne,  he  fell  into  an  ambush  of  French  and  Indians. 

6.  In  a  short  time,  Washington,  who  acted  as  aid  toBrad- 
fcock,  and  whose  duty  called  him  to  be  on  horseback,  was  the 
ftnly  person  mounted  who  was  left  alive,  or  not  wounded. 
The  van  of  the  army  was  forced  back,  and  the  whole  thr-own 
.Tito  confusion.  The  slaughter  was  dreadful.  Braddock  was 
mortally  wounded.  What  was  remarkable,  the  provincial 
rroops  preserved  their  order,  and  covered  the  retreat  under 
Washington ;  while  the  regulars  broke  their  ranks,  and  could 
iiot  be  rallied. 

7.  Three  successive  campaigns  procured  nothing  but  ex- 
pense and  disappointment  to  the  English.  With  an  inferior 
force,  the  French  had  succeeded  in  every  campaign  ;  and 
gloomy  apprehensions  were  entertained  as  to  the  destiny  of 
the  British  colonies.     But  in  I7563  a  change  of  ministry  ia 


Chap.  I.  American  history.  247 

England  took  place.  William  Pitt  was  placed  at  the  helm. 
To  despair,  succeeded  hope  ;  and  to  hope,  victory.  Supplies 
vere  granted  with  liherality,  and  given  without  reluctance; 
SQidiers  enlisted  freely,  and  fought  with  enthusiasm. 

3.  In  a  short  time  the  French  were  dispossessed,  not  only 
of  all  the  territories  in  dispute,  but  of  (Quebec,  and  her  an- 
cient province  of  Canada  ;  so  that  all  which  remained  to  her 
of  her  numerous  settlements  in  North  America,  was  New- 
Orleansj  with  a  few  plantations  on  the  Mississippi.  Full  of 
youth  and  spirit,  the  gallant  General  Wolf,  who  led  the  Eu- 
ropean and  colonial  troops  to  victory,  fell  before  the  walls  of 
Q,uebec,  in  the  moment  of  success.  In  1762,  hostilities  hav- 
ing  raged  nearly  eight  years,  a  general  peace  Avas  concluded: 
France  ceded  Canada,  and  Spain  relinquished,  as  the  price  of 
recovering  Havana,  which  had  been  taken  by  the  British, 
both  the  Floridas  to  Great  Britain. 

QUESTIONS. 

Wliat  settlements  had  the  French  in  America  ? 

In  what  way  did  France  endeavor  to  coutine  the  English  within  narrow  lim- 
its, or  to  drive  them  from  the  continent"? 

y^en  and  what  method  did  the  Virjjinia  assembly  adopt  to  support  the  Eng- 
lish claims  over  tlie  disputed  territory? 

Wh(-n  and  with  what  force  was  General  Braddock  sent  over  to  support  these 
claims? 

What  was  the  success  of  Braddock's  exi)edition  1 

How  many  campaigns  were  attended  only  with  expense  and  disappointment 
to  tlie  Enj,dish  ? 

What  led  to  a  chanjie  in  Enjjlish  prospects  ? 

What  celebrated  English  general  was  killed  in  the  capture  of  Quebec  ? 

SECTION  VI. 

Difficulties  between  Great  Britain  and  the  Colonies^  and 
the  consequent  War  of  the  Revolution. 

1.  Although  the  American  colonies  had  principally  con- 
tributed to  the  great  extension  of  the  power  of  Great  Britain, 
co-operating  with  the  vigilance  of  more  than  four  hundred 
cruisers  on  the  sea,  and  furnishing  more  than  tv/enly-four 
thousand  soldiers  ;  yet  the  latter  regarded  her  plantations  as 
mere  instruments  in  her  hands.  On  the  contrary,  the  high 
sentiments  of  liberty  and  independence  nurtured  in  the  co- 
lonies from  their  local  situation  and  habits,  were  increased 
by  the  removal  of  hostile  neighbors.  Ideas  favorable  to  in- 
dependence increased ;  and  whilst  combustible  materials  were 
collecting  in  the  new  world,  a  brand  to  enkindle  them  was 
preparing  in  the  old. 

2.  In  1765,  under  the  auspices  of  the  minister,  George 


248  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  pART   III. 

Grenville,  the  obnoxious  stamp  act  passed  in  the  British  par- 
liament,— by  which  the  instruments  of  writini^  in  daily  use 
were  to  be  null  and  void,  unless,  executed  on  paper  or  parch- 
ment stamped  with  a  specilic  duty  :  law  documents,  leases, 
deeds  and  indentures,  newspapers  and- advertisements,  alma- 
nacs and  pamphlets,  executed  and  printed  in  America, — all 
must  contribute  to  the  British  treasury. 

3.  The  bill  did  not  pass  without  the  decided  opposition  of 
patriots  in  the  British  legi>lature,  who  foretold  the  result,  and 
who  declared  that,  the  colonies  beina:  planted  by  British  op- 
pression, and  having  assi<^ted  the  mother  country,  the  mother 
had  no  claim  on  the  child  to  derive  from  it  a  revenue.     The 

"biJi  did  not  take  effect  until  seven  months  after  its  passage  ; 
thus  giving  tlie  colonists  an  opportunity  of  leisurely  exami- 
ning and  viewing  the  subject  on  every  side. 

4.  They  were  struck  with  silent  consternation  ;  but  the 
voice  of  opposition  was  first  heard  in  Virginia.  Patrick 
Henry,  on  the  20th  of  May,  brought  into  the  house  of  bur- 
gesses in  that  colony,  a  number  of  resolutions,  which  were 
adopted,  and  which  concluded  with  declaring,  "  That  every 
individual,  who,  by  speaking  or  acting,  should  assert  or  main- 
tain that  any  person  or  body  of  men,  except  the  general  as- 
sembly of  the  province,  had  any  right  to  impo:;e  taxation 
there,  sbould  be  deemed  an  enemy  to  his  majesty's  colony." 

5.  These  resolutions  were  immediately  disseminated 
through  the  other  provinces, — the  tongues  and  the  pens  of 
well-informed  men  labored  in  the  holy  cause, — the  lire  of  liber- 
ty blazed  forth  from  the  press.  The  assembly  of  Massachusetts 
passed  a  resolution  in  favor  of  a  continental  congress,  and 
fixed  a  day  for  its  meeting  at  New-York,  in  October.  The 
other  colonies,  with  the  exception  of  four,  accepted  the  invita- 
tion, and  assembled  at  the  appointed  place.  Here  they  agreed 
on  a  dechiration  of  their  rights.  There  was,  however,  a 
considerable  degree  of  timidity  evinced  in  this  congress. — 
The  boldest  and  most  impressive  arguments  were  offered  by 
James  Otis  of  Massachusetts. 

6.  The  time  arrived  for  the  act  to  take  effect ;  aadilie  aver- 
sion to  it  was  expressed  in  still  stronger  terms  throughout 
the  colonies.  By  a  common  consent,  its  provisions  were  dis- 
regarded, and  business  was  conducted,  in  defiance  of  the  par- 
liament, as  if  no  stamp  act  was  in  existence:  associations 
were  formed  against  importing  British  manufactures  until 
the  law  should  be  repealed ;  and  lawyers  were  prohibited 
from  instituting  any  action  for  money  due  to  any  inhabitant 
of  England. 

7.  The  spirited  conduct  of  the  colonists  afTecting  the  in- 


Chap.  I.  American  history.  249 

terests  of  the  Brkish  merchants,  had  the  desired  effect. 
Warm  discussions  took  place  in  the  British  parliament,  and 
the  ablest  speaiiers  in  both  houses  denied  the  justice  of  tax- 
ing the  colonies.  The  opposition  could  not  be  withstood  ; 
and  in  March,  1766,  the 'law  was  repealed.  Simultaneously, 
however,  with  repealing  this  act,  the  British  Parliament 
passed  another,  declaring  that  the  British  parliament  had  a 
right  to  make  laws  binding  the  colonies  in  all  cases  what- 
ever ;  and  soon  after  another  bill  was  passed,  imposing  in 
the  colonies  duties  on  glass,  paper,  painters'  colors,  and  tea. 

8.  The  fire  of  opposition  was  now  rekindled  with  addition- 
al ardor,  by  the  same  principle,  exhibited  in  its  new  form. — 
The  best  talents  throughout  the  colonies  were  engaged  in 
the  public  prints  and  in  pamphlets,  to  work  up  the  public  feel- 
ing against  the  arbitrary  measures  of  the  British  parliament. 
New  associations  were  formed  to  suspend  the  importation  ol 
British  manufactures.  The  Massachusetts  assembly,  having 
passed  resolutions  to  this  effect,  drew  forth  the  marked  dis- 
pleasure of  the  crown  ;  and,  on  their  refusal  to  cancel  their 
resolutions,  were  dissolved. 

9.  in  1768,  Mr.  Hancock's  sloop  Liberty  was  seized  at 
Boston,  for  not  entering  all  the  wines  she  had  brough't,  from 
Madeira  :  this  infiamod  the  populace  to  a  high  degree  of  re- 
sentment. Soon  afterwards,  two  British  regiments,  and 
some  armed  vessels,  were  sent  to  Boston,  to  assist  the  reve- 
nue officers.  The  parliament,  encouraged  by  the  expectation 
of  quelling  the  refractory  by  their  arms,  continued  to  dissolve 
the  opposing  assemblies  ;  but  the  colonies  remained  firm  in 
their  purposes. 

10.  Lord  North  succeeded  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  as  British 
premier  in  1770;  and  the  act  was  repealed  imposing  a  duty 
on  glass,  paper,  and  painters'  colors ;  but  that  on  tea  was  re- 
tained. Some  slight  prospect  of  allaying  the  difficulties  suc- 
ceeded. But  on  the  second  of  March  an  aflray  took  place  in 
Boston,  between  a  private  soldier  and  an  inhabitant.  This 
was  succeeded,  in  a  few  days  afterwards,  by  a  mob  meeting 
a  party  of  British  soldiers  under  arms,  who  were  dared  to 
fire,  and  who  at  length  did  fire,  and  killed  five  persons.  The 
captain  who  commanded,  and  the  troops  who  fired,  were 
afterv/ards  tried  lor  murder,  and  acquitted. 

11.  Things  continued  in  this  mode  of  partial  irritation 
until  1773,  when  the  British  East  India  Company  were  au- 
thorized to  export  their  tea  to  all  places,  free  of  duty.  As  this 
would  enable  them  to  sell  that  article  cheaper  in  America, 
with  the  government  exactions,  than  they  had  before  sold  it 
without  them,  it  was  confidently  calculated  that  teas  might 


250  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   III, 

be  extensively  disposed  of  in  the  colonies.  Large  consign- 
ments of  tea  were  sent  to  various  ports,  and  agents  appoint 
ed  for  its  disposal. 

12.  The  consignees,  in  several  places,  were  compelled  to 
relinquish  their  appointments.  Popular  vengeance  prevented 
the  landing  at  New  York  or  Philadelphia.  In  Boston  it  was 
otherwise.  The  tea  for  the  supply  of  that  portwa.s  consign- 
ed to  the  sons  and  particular  friends  of  Governor  Hutchin- 
son. The  tea  was  landed  by  the  strenuous  exertions  of  the 
governor  and  consignees.  But  soon  a  party  of  men.  dressed 
as  Indians,  boarded  the  tea  ships,  broke  open  the  cargoes, 
and  threw  the  contents  into  the  sea. 

13.  Enraged  against  the  people  of  Boston,  the  parliament 
resolved  to  take  legislative  vengeance  on  that  devoted  town. 
Disregarding  the  forms  of  the  British  constitution,  by  which 
none  are  to  be  punished  without  trial,  they  passed  a  bill, 
closing,  in  a  commercial  sense,  its  port:  its  custom  house 
and  trade  were  soon  after  removed  to  Salem.  The  charter 
of  the  colony  was  new  modelled,  so  that  the  whole  executive 
government  was  taken  from  the  people,  and  the  nomination 
to  all  important  offices  vested  in  the  crown  ;  and  it  was  en- 
acted, that  if  any  person  was  indicted  for  any  capital  offense 
committed  in  aiding  the  magistrates,  lie  might  be  sent  to 
Great  Britain  or  another  colony  for  trial. 

14.  Property,  liberty,  and  life,  were  thus  subject  to  minis- 
terial caprice.  The  parliament  went  still  farther,  and  passed 
an  act  extending  the  boundaries  of  Canada,  southward  to 
the  Ohio,  westward  to  the  Mississippi,  and  northward  to  the 
borders  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  assimilating  its  laws 
with  the  French,  which  dispensed  with  the  trial  by  jury, 
and  rendering  the  inhabitants  passive  agents  in  the  hands  of 
power. 

QUESTIONS. 

How  many  soldiors  did  the  colwnies  furnish  in  the  French  war  T 

When  was  the  British  stamp  act  passed  ? 

Where  in  the  colonies  was  it  first  opposed? 

Which  of  the  colonies  proposed  a  continental  congress  to  be  held  at  New 
York  1 

When  was  the  law  repealed  % 

What  bill  was  passed  on  the  repeal  of  this? 

What  disturbances  took  place  al  Boston  in  1763? 

Wliat  clianfjfe  took  place  on  the  elevation  of  Lord  North? 

What  disturbances  took  place  in  Boston  in  March,  1770? 

What  took  place  in  1773? 

What  resistance  was  made  in  Boston  in  1773,  to  the  British  government  in 
relation  to  tea  ? 

Who  was  the  British  commander  in  chief  in  Boston  at  this  time? 


Chap.  I.  American  history.  251 


SECTION  YII. 


Tke  same  subject  continued. 


1.  Tpie  flame  was  now  kindled  in  every  breast ;  and  asso- 
ciations were  formed,  and  committees  of  correspondence 
were  established,  which  produced  a  unity  of  thought  and 
action  throughout  the  colonies.  General  Gage,  the  British 
commander  in  chief,  arrived  in  Boston,  in  1774,  with  more 
troops,  with  the  avowed  intention  of  dragooning  the  refrac- 
tory Bostonians  into  compliance.  A  general  sympathy  was 
excited  for  the  sufiering  inhabitants  of  Boston :  addresses 
poured  in  from  all  quarters ;  Marblehead  o0ered  to  the  Bos- 
ton merchants  the  use  of  their  wharves,  and  Salem  refused 
to  adopt  the  trade,  the  offer  of  which  had  been  proffered  as  a 
temptation  to  her  cupidity. 

2.  Affairs  rapidly  approached  a  crisis.  The  preparations 
for  offense  and  defense,  induced  General  Gage  to  fortify 
Boston,  and  to  seize  on  the  powder  lodged  at  the  arsenal  at 
Charlestown. 

3.  In  September,  deputies  from  most  of  the  colonics  met 
in  congress,  at  Philadelphia.  These  delegates  approved  uf 
the  conduct  of  the  people  of  Massachusetts  ;  wrote  a  letter 
to  General  Gage;  published  a  declaration  of  rights;  formed 
an  association  not  to  import  or  use  British  goods ;  sent  a 
petition  to  the  king  of  Great  Britain;  an  address  to  ti)e  in- 
habitants of  that  kingdom ;  another  to  tiie  inliabifants  of 
Canada  ;  and  another  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  colonies.  In 
the  beginning  of  the  next  year,  (1775,)  was  passed  x\\e  fishery 
billj  by  which  the  northern  colonies  were  forbidden  to  fish 
on  the  banks  of  Newfoundland  for  a  certain  time.  This 
bore  hard  upon  the  commerce  of  tliese  colonies,  which  was 
in  a  great  measure  supported  by  the  fishery. 

4.  Soon  after,  another  bill  was  passed,  which  restrained 
the  trade  of  the  middle  and  southern  colonies  to  Great 
Britain,  Ireland,  and  the  West  Indies,  except  under  certain 
conditions.  These  repeated  acts  of  oppression  on  the  part 
of  Great  Britain,  alienated  the  affections  of  America  from 
her  parent  and  sovereign,  and  produced  a  combined  opposi- 
tion to  the  whole  system  of  taxation.  Preparations, began  to 
be  made  to  oppose  by  force  the  execution  of  these  acts  of 
parliament.  The  militia  of  the  country  were  trained  to  the 
use  of  arms — great  encouragement  was  given  to  the  manu- 
facture of  gunpowder,  and  measures  were  taken  to  obtain 
all  kinds  of  military  stores. 


252  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   III. 

5.  In  February,  Colonel  Leslie  was  sent  with  a  detach- 
ment of  troops  from  Boston,  to  take  possession  of  some  can- 
non at  Salem.  But  the  people  had  intelligence  of  the  design 
— took  up  the  drawbridge  in  that  town,  and  prevented  me 
troops  from  passing,  until  the  cannon  were  se<nired ;  so  that 
the  expedition  failed.  In  April,  Colonel  Smith  and  Major 
Pitcairn  were  sent  with  a  body  of  troops,  to  destroy  the  mi- 
litary stores  which  had  been  collected  at  Concord,  about 
twenty  miles  from  Boston.  Al  Lexington  the  militia  were 
collected  on  a  green,  to  oppose  the  incursion  of  the  British 
forces.  These  were  fired  upon  by  the  British  troops,  and 
eight  men  killed  on  the  spot. 

6.  The  militia  were  dispersed,  and  the  troops  proceeded  to 
Concord,  where  they  destroyed  a  few  stores.  But  on  their 
return  they  were  incessantly  harassed  by  the  Americans, 
who,  inflamed  with  just  resentment,  fired  upon  them  from 
houses  and  fences,  and  pursued  them  to  Boston.  Here  wsls 
spilled  the  first  blood  in  the  war  which  severed  America  from 
the  British  empire.  Lexington  opened  the  first  scene  of  the 
great  drama,  which,  in  its  progress,  exhibited  the  most  illus- 
trious characters  and  events,  and  closed  with  a  revolution, 
equally  glorious  for  the  actors,  and  important  in  its  conse- 
quences to  the  human  race. 

7.  This  battle  roused  all  America.  The  militia  collected 
from  all  quarters,  and  Boston  was  in  a  few  days  besieged  by 
twenty  thousand  men.  A  stop  was  put  to  all  intercourse  be- 
tween the  town  and  country,  and  the  inhabitants  were  re- 
duced to  great  want  of  provisions.  General  Gage  promised 
to  let  the  people  depart,  if  they  would  deliver  up  their  arms. 
The  people  complied ;  but  when  the  general  had  obtained 
their  arms,  he  refused  to  let  the  people  go. 

8.  In  the  mean  time,  a  small  number  of  men,  under  the 
command  of  Colonel  Allen  and  Colonel  Easton,  without  any 
public  orders,  surprised  and  took  the  British  garrison  at  Ti- 
conderoga  without  the  loss  of  a  man. 

9.  In  June  folio w^ing,  our  troops  attempted  to  fortify  Bun- 
ker's Hill,  which  lies  in  Charlestown,  and  but  a  mile  and  a 
half  from  Boston.  They  had  during  the  night  thrown  up  a 
small  breastwork,  which  sheltered  them  from  the  fire  of  the 
British  cannon.  But  the  next  morning,  the  British  army 
was  sent  to  drive  them  from  the  hill ;  and  landing  under 
cover  of •  their  cannon,  they  set  fire  to  Charlestown,  which 
was  consumed,  and  marched  to  attack  our  troops  in  the  en- 
trenchments. 

10.  A  severe  engagement  ensued,  in  which  the  British  suf- 
fered a  very  great  loss,  both  of  officers  and  privates.     They 


Chap.  I.  American  history.  253 

were  repulsed  at  first,  and  thrown  into  disorder ;  but  they 
finally  carried  the  fortification  with  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 
The  Americans  suffered  a  small  loss  compared  with  the  Bri- 
tish ;  but  the  death  of  the  brave  General  Warren,  who  fell 
in  the  action,  a  martyr  to  the  cause  of  his  country,  was  se- 
verely felt  and  universally  lamented. 

11.  About  this  time,  the  continental  congress  appointed 
George  Washington,  Esq.  to  the  chief  command  of  the  con- 
tinental army.  This  gentleman  had  been  a  distinguished 
and  successful  officer  in  the  preceding  war,  and  he  seemed 
destined  by  Heaven  to  be  the  savior  of  his  country.  He  ac- 
cepted the  appointment  with  a  diffidence  which  was  proof 
of  his  prudence  and  his  greatness.  He  refused  any  pay  for 
eight  years  laborious  and  arduous  service  ;  and  by  his  match- 
less skill,  fortitude,  and  perseverance,  conducted  America, 
through  indescribable  difficulties,  to  independence  and  peace. 
While  true  merit  is  esteemed,  or  virtue  honored,  mankind 
will  never  cease  to  revere  the  memory  of  this  hero  ;  and 
while  gratitude  remains  in  the  human  breast,  the  praises  of 
Washington  shall  dwell  on  every  American  tongue. 

12.  General  Washington,  with  other  officers  appointed -by 
congress,  arrived  at  Cambridge,  and  took  command  of  the 
American  army  in  July.  From  this  time,  the  affairs  of 
America  began  to  assume  the  appearance  of  a  regular  and 
general  opposition  to  the  forces  of  Great  Britain. 

13.  In  autumn,  a  body  of  troops,  under  the  command  of 
General  Montgomery,  besieged  and  took  the  garrison  at  St. 
Joliii's,  which  commands  the  entrance  into  Canada.  The 
prisoners  amounted  to  about  seven  hundred.  General  Mont- 
gomery pursued  his  success,  and  took  Montreal,  and  design- 
ed to  push  his  victories  to  Gtuebec.  A  body  of  troops,  com- 
manded by  Arnold,  was  ordered  to  march  to  Canada  by  the 
river  Kennebec,  and  through  the  wilderness.  After  suffering 
every  hardship,  and  the  most  distressing  hunger,  they  ar- 
rived in  Canada,  and  were  joined  by  General  Montgomery 
before  Cluebec. 

14.  This  city,  which  was  commanded  by  Governor  Carle- 
ton,  was  immediately  besieged.  But  there  being  little  hope 
of  taking  the  town  by  a  siege,  it  was  determined  to  storm  it. 
The  attack  was  made  on  the  last  day  of  December,  but 
proved  unsuccessful,  and  fatal  to  the  brave  general,  who  v/ith 
his  aid  was  killed  in  attempting  to  scale  the  walls.  Of  the 
three  divisions  which  attacked  the  town,  one  only  entered, 
and  that  Avas  compelled  to  surrender  to  superior  force.  After 
this  defeat,  Arnold  who  now  commanded  the  troops,  conti- 
nued some  months  before  (Quebec,  although  his  troops  sufTer- 


254  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   III. 

ed  incredibly  by  cold  and  sickness.     But  the  next  spring  the 
Americans  were  obliged  to  retreat  from  Canada. 

15.  About  this  time  the  large  and  flourishing  town  of 
Norfolk,  in  Virginia,  was  wantonly  burnt  by  order  of  Lord 
Dunmore,  the  royal  governor.  General  Gage  went  lo 
England  in  September,  and  was  succeeded  in  command  by 
General  Howe,  Falmouth,  a  considerable  town  in  the  pro- 
vince of  Maine,  in  Massachusetts,  shared  the  fate  of  Norfolk ; 
being  laid  in  ashes  by  order  of  the  British  admiral. 

16.  The  British  king  entered  into  treaties  with  some  of 
the  German  princes  for  about  seventeen  thousand  men,  who 
were  to  be  sent  to  America  the  next  year,  to  assist  in  subdu- 
ing the  colonies.  The  British  Parliament  also  passed  an  act, 
forbidding  all  intercourse  with  America ;  and  while  they 
repealed  the  Boston  port  and  fishery  bills,  they  declared  all 
American  property  on  the  high  seas  forfeited  to  the  captors. 

17.  This  act  induced  congress  to  change  the  mode  of  car- 
rying on  the  war ;  and  measures  were  taken  to  annoy  the 
enemy  in  Boston.  For  this  purpose  batteries  were  opened 
on  several  hills,  from  whence  shot  and  bombs  were  thrown 
into  the  town.  But  the  batteries  w4iich  were  opened  on 
Dorchester  point  had  the  best  effect,  and  soon  obliged  general 
Howe  to  abandon  the  town.  In  March,  1776,  the  British 
troops  embarked  for  Halifax,  and  general  Washington  en- 
tered the  town  in  triumph. 

18.  In  the  ensuing  sunmier,  a  small  squadron  of  ships, 
under  the  command  of  sir  Peter  Parker,  and  a  body  of  troops 
under  the  generals  Clinton  and  Cornwallis,  attempted  to 
take  Charleston,  the  capital  of  South  Carolina.  The  ships 
made  a  violent  attack  upon  the  fort  on  Sullivan's  island,  but 
w^ere  repulsed  with  great  loss,  and  the  expedition  was 
abandoned. 

QUESTIONS. 

What  took  place  at  the  CvDngress  of  1774  held  in  Philadelphia? 
Where,  and  under  what  circumstances,  was  spilt  the  first  blood  of  the  revo- 
lutionary war  ? 

What  led  to  the  burning  of  Charlestown? 
Who  headed  an  expedition  into  Canada! 
With  what  success  was  it  made  ? 
By  whom  was  Gen.  Gage  superseded? 
Wlicn  did  the  British  evacuate  Boston  1 

SECTION   VIII. 

The  same  subject  continued, 

1.  In  July,  1776,  congress  published  their  Declaration  of 
Independence^  which  forever  separated  America  from  Great 
Britain.     This  great  event  took  place  two  hundred  and 


ClIAP.  I.  AMERICAN   HISTORY.  255 

eighty-four  years  after  the  first  discovery  of  America  by 
Columbus — one  hundred  and  seventy  from  the  first  effect- 
ual settlements  in  Virginia — and  one  hundred  and  fifty-six 
from  the  first  settlement  of  Plymouth  in  Massachusetts, 
which  Avere  the  earliest  English  settlements  in  America. 
Just  after  this  declaration,  General  Howe,  with  a  powerful 
force,  arrived  near  New-York,  and  landed  the  troops  upon 
Staten  Island.  General  Washington  was  in  New-York,  with 
about  thirteen  thousand  men,  encamped  either  in  the  city,  or 
in  the  neighboring  fortifications. 

2.  ThtB  operations  of  the  British  began  by  the  action  on 
Long  Island,  in  the  month  of  August.  The  Americans  were 
defeated,  and  General  Sullivan  and  Lord  Sterling,  with  a 
large  body  of  men,  were  made  prisoners.  The  night  after 
the  engagement,  a  retreat  Vv^as  ordered,  and  executed  with 
such  silence,  that  the  Americans  left  the  Island  without 
alarming  their  enemies,  and  without  loss.  In  September, 
the  city  of  New-York  was  abandoned  by  the  American  ar- 
my, and  taken  by  the  British. 

3.  In  No\'^ember,  fort  Washington,  on  York  Island,  was 
taken,  and  more  than  two  thousand  men  made  prisoners. 
Fort  Lee,  opposite  to  Fort  Washington,  on  the  Jersey  shore, 
was  soon  after  taken,  but  the  garrison  escaped.  About  the 
same  time,.  General  Clinton  was  sent,  with  a  body  of  troops, 
to  take  possession  of  Rhode  Island,  and  succeeded.  In  ad- 
dition to  all  these  losses  and  defeats,  the  American  army 
suffered  by  desertion,  and  more  by  sickness,  which  was  ep- 
idemic, and  very  mortal. 

4.  The  northern  army,  at  Ticonderoga,  was  in  a  disagreea- 
ble situation,  particularly  after  the  battle  on  Lake  Champlain, 
in  which  the  American  force  consisting  of  a  few  light  vessels 
under  the  command  of  Arrtold  and  General  Waterbury,  was 
totally  dispersed.  But  General  Carleton,  instead  of  pursu- 
ing his  victory,  landed  at  Crown  Point,  reqonnoitered  our 
posts  at  Ticonderoga  and  Mount  Independence,  and  returned 
to  winter  quarters  in  Canada. 

5.  At  the  close  of  this  year,  the  American  army  was 
dwindled  to*  a  handful  of  men  ;  and  General  Lee  was  taken 
prisoner  in  New-Jersey.  Far  from  being  discouraged  at 
these  losses,  congress  took  measures  to  raise  and  establish  an 
army.  In  this  critical  situation,  General  Washington  sur- 
prised and  took  a  large  body  of  Hessians,  who  were  canton- 
ed at  Trenton  ;  and  soon  after,  another  body  of  the  British 
troops,  at  Princeton.  The  address  in  planning  and  executing 
these  enterprises,  reflected  the  highest  honor  on  the  com- 
mander, and  the  success  revived  the  desponding  hopes  of 


256  NEW   ENGLISH  READER.  PaRT  IIL 

America.  The  loss  of  General  Mercer,  a  gallant  officer,  at 
Princeton,  was  the  principal  circumstance  that  allayed  the 
joy  of  victory. 

6.  The  following  year  (1777)  was  distinguished  by  very 
memorable  events  in  favor  of  America.  On  the  opening  of 
the  campaign,  governor  Tryon  was  sent,  with  a  body  of 
troops,  to  destroy  the  stores  at  Danbury,  in  Connecticut. 
The  plan  was  executed,  and  the  town  mostly  burnt. 
The  enemy  suffered  in  their  retreat,  and  the  Americans  lost 
general  Wooster,  a  brave  and  experienced  officer.  General 
Prescott  was  taken  from  his  quarters  on  Rhode  Island,  by 
the  address  and  enterprise  of  CoL  Barton,  and  conveyed 
prisoner  to  the  continent. 

7.  General  Burgoyne,  who  commanded  the  northera 
British  army,  took  possession  of  Ticonderoga,  which  had 
been  abandoned  by  the  Americans.  He  pushed  his  successes, 
crossed  lake  George,  and  encamped  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson,  near  Saratoga.  His  progress  was  however  checked 
by  the  defeat  of  Colonel  Baum,  near  Bennington,  in  which 
the  undisciplined  militia  of  Vermont  under  General  Stark, 
display e^  unexampled  bravery  and  captured  almost  the 
whole  detachment. 

8.  The  militia  assembled  from  all  parts  of  New  England^ 
to  stop  the  progress  of  General  Burgoyne.  These,  with  the 
regular  troops,  formed  a  respectable  army,  commanded  by 
General  Gates.  After  two  severe  actions,  in  which  the 
generals  Lincoln  and  Arnold  behaved  wLth  uncommon  gal- 
lantry, and  were  wounded.  General  Burgoyne  found  himself 
enclosed  with  brave  troops,  and  was  forced  to  surrender  his 
whole  army,  amounting  to  seyen  thousand  men,  into  the 
hands  of  the  Americans.  This  happened  in  October.  This 
event  diffused  a  universal  joy  over  America,  and  laid  a  foun- 
dation for  the  treaty  with  France. 

9.  But  before  these  transactions,  the  main  body  of  the  Bri- 
tish forces  had  embarked  at  New-York,  sailed  up  the  Chesa- 
peake, and  landed  at  the  head  of  Elk  River.  The  army  soon 
began  their  march  for  Philadelphia.  General  Washington 
had  determined  to  oppose  them,  and  for  this  purpose  made  a 
stand  upon  the  heights  near  Brandy  wine  Creek.  Here  the 
armies  engaged,  and  the  Americans  were  overpowered,  and 
suffered  great  loss. 

10.  The  enemy  soon  pursued  their  march,  and  took  pos- 
session of  Philadelphia  toward  the  close  of  September.  Not 
long  after,  the  two  armies  Avere  again  engaged  at  .German- 
town,  and  in  the  beginning  of  the  action  the  Americans  had 
the  advantage  j  but  by  some  unlucky  accident,  the  fortune  of 


Chap.  I.  American  history.  251 

the  day  was  turned  in  favor  of  the  British.  Both  sides  suf- 
fered  considerable  loss  j  on  the  side  of  the  Americans  was 
General  Nash. 

11.  In  an  attack  upon  the  forts  at  Mud  Island  and  Red 
Bank,  the  Hessians  were  unsuccessful,  and  their  commander, 
Colonel  Donop,  killed.  The  British  also  lost  the  Augusta,  a 
ship  of  the  line.  But  the  forts  were  afterwards  taken,  and 
the  navigation  of  the  Delaware  opened.  General  Washing- 
ton was  reinforced  with  part  of  the  troops  which  had  com- 
posed the  northern  army,  under  General  Gates  j  and  both 
armies  retired  to  winter  quarters. 

12.  In  October,  the  same  month  In  which  General  Burgoyne 
was  taken  at  Saratoga,  General  Vaughan,  Avith  a  small  fleet, 
sailed  up  Hudson's  River,  and  wantonly  burnt  Kingston,  a 
beautiful  Dutch  settlement,  on  the  west  side  of  the  river. 

]  3.  The  beginning  of  the  next  year  ( 1778)  was  distinguish- 
ed bv  a  treaty  of  alliance  between  France  and  America  ;  by 
which  we  obtained  a  pov/erful  ally.  When  the  English 
ministry  was  informed  that  this  treaty  was  on  foot,  they 
dispatched  commissioners  to  America  to  attempt  a  reconcilia- 
cion.  But  America  would  not  now  accept  their  offers.  Early 
in  the  spring.  Count  de  Estaing,  with  a  fleet  of  fifteen  sail  ol 
the  line,  w^as  sent  by  the  court  of  France,  to  assist  America. 

14.  General  Howe  left  the  Army,  and  returned  to  England  ; 
the  command  then  devolved  upon  Sir  Henry  Clinton.  In 
.lune,  the  British  army  left  Philadelphia,  and  marched  for 
New-York.  On  their  march  they  were  much  annoyed  by 
the  Americans  ;  and  at  Monmouth  a  very  regular  action  took 
place  between  part  of  the  armies ;  the  enemy  were  repulsed 
with  great  loss;  and  had  General  Lee  obeyed  his  orders,  a 
signal  victory  must  have  been  ol^tained.  General  Lee,  for 
his  ill  conduct  that  day,  was  suspended,  and  was  never 
afterwards  permitted  to  join  the  army. 

15.  In  August,  General  Sullivan,  with,  a  large  body  of 
troops,  attempted  to  take  possession  of  Rhode  Island,  but  did 
not  succeed.  Soon  after  the  stores  and  shipping  at  Bedford, 
in  Massachusetts,  w^ere  burnt  by  a  party  of  British  troops. — 
The  same  year,  Savannah,  the  capital  of  Georgia,  was  taken 
by  the  British,  under  the  command  of  Colonel  Campbell. 
In  the  following  year,  (1779,)  General  Lincoln  was  appointed 
to  the  command  of  the  southern  army.  Governor  Tryon 
and  Sir  George  Collier  made  an  incursion  into  Connecticut, 
and  burnt  with  wanton  barbarity,  the  tov/ns  of  Fairfield  and 
Nor  walk. 

•16.  But  the  American  arms  were  crowned  with  success  in 
a  bold  attack  upon  Stony  Point,  which  was  surprised  and 
17 


NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT   III, 

taken  by  General  Wayne,  in  the  night  of  the  loth  of  July. 
Five  hundred  men  were  made  prisoners,  with  a  small  loss  on 
either  side.  A  party  of  British  forces  attempted,  this  sum- 
mer, to  build  a  fort  on  Penobscot  Piiver,  for  the  purpose  of 
♦jutting  timber  in  the  neighboring  forests.  A  plan  was  laid, 
by  Massachusetts,  to  dislodge  them,  and  a  considerable  fleet 
collected  for  the  purpose.  But  the  plan  failed  of  success, 
and  the  whole  marine  force  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  British, 
except  some  vessels  which  were  burnt  by  the  Americans 
themselves. 

17.  In  October,  General  Lincoln  and  Count  de  Estaing 
made  an  assault  upon  Savannah;  but  they  were  repulsed 
with  considerable  loss.  In  this  action,  the  celebrated  Polish 
Count  Polaski,  who  had  acquired  tiie  reputation  of  a  brave 
soldier,  was  mortally  wounded.  In  this  summer.  General 
Sullivan  marched  with  a  body  of  troops  into  the  Indian 
country,  and  bumt  and  destroyed  all  their  provisions  and 
settlements  that  fell  in  his  way, 

18.  On  the  opening  of  the  campaign,  the  next  year,  (1780.) 
the  British  troops  left  Rhode  Island.  An  expedition  under 
General  Cli^iton  and  Lord  Cornwallis,  was  undertaken 
against  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  where  General  Lincoln 
commande4.  This  town,  after  a  close  siege  of  about  six 
weeks,  was  surrendered  to  the  Britsh  commander;  and  Gene- 
ral Lincoln,  and  the  whole  American  garrison,  were  made 
prisoners. 

19.  General  Gates  was  appointed  to  the  command  in  the 
southern  department,  and  another  army  collected.  In  August, 
Lord  Cornwallis  attacked  the  American  troops  at  Camden, 
in  South  Carolina,  and  routed  them  with  considerable  loss. 
He  afterwards  marched  through  the  southern  states,  and 
supposed  t^liem  entirely  sutdued.  The  same  summer,  the 
British  trooops  made  frequent  incursions  from  New-York  into 
th^jjorseys,  ravaging  and  plundering  the  country.  In  soijae 
cf  these  desceits,''the  Rev.  Mr.  Caldwell,  a  respectable  cler- 
gyman and  warm  patriot,  and  his  lady,  were  inhumanly 
nmrdered  by  the  savage  soldiery. 

20.  In  July,  ^  French  fleet,  under  Monsieur  de  Ternay, 
w4th  a  body  of  land  forces,  commanded  by  Count  de  Rocham- 
bt.^ii,  arrived  at  Ilhode  Island,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  Ame- 
ricans. 

i^U^JIhis  year  was  also  distinguished  by  the  infamous  trea- 
son <h  Arnold.  General  Washington  having  some  business 
to  transact  at  Wethersfleld,  in  Connecticut,  left  Arnold  to 
command  the  important  post  of  West  Point,  which  guards 
a  pass  in  Hudsoa-s  River,  about  sixty  miles  from  New-York 


ClIAP.  I.  AMERICAN    HISTORY.  S55 

Arnold's  conduct  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  the  preceding 
winter  had  been  censured,  and  the  treatment  he  received  in 
consequence  had  given  him  offense.  He  determined  to  have 
revenge:  and  for  this  purpose  he  entered  into  a  negotiation 
with  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  to  deliverWest  Point  and  the  army 
into  the  hands  of  the  British. 

22.  While  General  Washington  was  absent,  he  dismount- 
ed the  cannon  in  some  of  the  forts,  and  took  pther  steps  to 
render  the  taking  of  the  post  easy  for  the  enemy.  But  by 
a  providential  discovery  tlie  whole  plan  was  defeated.  Ma- 
jor Andre,  aid  to  General  Clinton,  a  brave  officer,  who  had 
been  up  the  fiver  as  a  spy,  to  concert  the  plan  of  operations 
with  Arnold,  was  taken,  condemned  by  a  court-martial,  and 
executed.  Arnold  made  his  escape  by  getting  on  board  the 
Vulture,  a  British  vessel  which  lay  in  the  river.  His  conduct 
has  stamped  him  with  infamy,  and,  like  all  traitors,  he  is 
despised  by  all  mankind.  General  Washington  arrived  in 
camp  just  after  Arnold  had  made  his  escape,  and  restored 
order  in  die  garrison. 

23.  After  the  defeat  of  General  Gates,  in  Carolina,  General 
Green  was  appointed  to  the  command  in  the  southern  de- 
partment. From  this  period,  things  in'  this  quarter  wore  a 
more  favorable  aspect.  Colonel  Tarleton,  the  active  com- 
niaiider  of  the  British  legion,  was  defeated  by  General  Mor- 
gan, the  intrepid  commander  of  the  riflemen.  After  a  variety, 
of  movements,  the  two  armies  met  Guilford,  in  North 
Carolina.  Here  was  one  of  the  best  fought  actions  during 
the  war.  General  Greene  and  Lord  Cornwallis  exerted 
themselves,  at  the  head  of  their  respective  armies;  and  al- 
though the  Americans  were  obliged  to  retire  from  the  fi^ 
of  bjittle,  yet  the  British  army  suffered  an  immense  loss,  and 
could  not  jiursue  the  victory.  This  action  happened  on  the 
X5th  of  March,  1781. 

24.  In  the  spring,  Arnold,  who  was  made  a  brigadier-gene- 
ral in  the  British  service,  with  a  small  number  of  troops, 
sailed  for  Virginia,  and  plundered  the  country.  This  called 
the  attention  of  the  French  fleet  to  that  quarter,  and  a  naval 
engagement  took  place,  between  the  English  and  French,  in 
which  some  of  the  English  ships  w^ere  much  damaged,  and 
one  entirely  disabled. 

25.  After  the  battle  of  Guilford,  General  Greene  moved 
toward  South  Carolina,  to  drive  the  British  from  their  posts 
in  that  state.  Here  Lord  Rawdon  obtained  an  inconsiderable 
advantage  over  the  Americans,  near  Camden.  But  General 
Greene  more  than  recovered  this  disadvantage,  by  the  bril- 
liant and   successful  action  at  the  Eutaw  Springs,  where 


260  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   III 

General  Marion  distinguished  himself,  and  the  brave 
Colonel  Washington  was  wounded  and  taken  prisoner. 
Lord  Cornwallis,  finding  General  Greene  successful  in  Ca- 
rolina, marched  to  Virginia,  collected  his  forces,  and  fortified 
himself  in  Yorktown. 

25.  In  the  mean  time,  Arnold  made  an  incursion  into  Con- 
necticut, burnt  a  part  of  New  London,  took  Fort  Griswold 
by  storm,  and  put  the  garrison  to  the  sword.  The  garrison 
consisted  chiefly  of  men  suddenly  collected  from  the  little 
town  of  Groton,  which,  by  the  savage  cruelty  of  the  British 
officer  who  commanded  the  attack,  lost,  in  one  hour,  almost 
all  its  heads  of  families.  The  brave  Colonel  Ltdyard,  who 
commanded  the  fort,  was  slain  with  his  own  sword  after  he 
bad  surrendered. 

27.  The  Marquis  de  la  Fayette,  the  brave  andgenerous  no- 
bleman, whose  services  command  the  gratitude  of  every 
American,  had  been  despatched  from  the  main  army  to  watch 
the  motions  of  Lord  Cornwalli?i,  in  Virginia.  About  the  last 
of  August,  Count  de  Grasse  arrived  with  a  large  fleet  in  the 
Chesapeake,  and  blocked  up  the  British  troops  at  Yorktown. 
Admiral  Greaves,  with  a  British  fleet,  appeared  off  the  Capes, 
and  an  action  succeeded,  but  it  was  not  decisive. 

23.  General  Washington  had  before  this  time  moved  th^ 
main  body  of  his  army,  together  with  the  French  troop?;,  to 
the  southward  ;  and,  as  soon  as  he  heard  of  the  arrival  of  the 
French  fleet  in  the  Chesapeake,  he  made  rapid  marches  to 
the  head  of  the  Elk,  where,  embarking,  the  troops  soon  ar- 
rived at  Yorktown.  A  close  siege  immediately  commenced^ 
and  was  carried  on  w^ith  such  vigor  by  the  combined  forces 
of'America  and  France,  that  Lord  Cornwallis  was  obliged  to 
surrender. 

29.  This  glorious  event,  which  took  place  on  the  19th  of 
October,  1781,  decided  the  contest  in  favor  of  America,  and 
laid  the  foundation  of  a  general  peace.  A  few  months  after 
the  surrender  of  Cornwallis,  the  British  evacuated  all  their 
posts  in  South  Carolina  and  Georgia,  and  retired  to  the  main 
army  in  New- York. 

30.  The  next  spring,  (1782,)  Sir  Guy  Carlton  arrived  in 
New- York,  and  took  command  ot  the  British  army  in  Ameri- 
ca. Immediately  afier  his  arrival,  he  acquainted  General 
Vv^ashington  and  congress,  that  negotiations  for  a  peace  had 
been  commenced  at  Paris.  On  the  30th  of  November,  17S2, 
the  provisional  articles  of  peace  were  signed  at  Paris,  by 
which  Great  Britain  acknov/leged  the  independence  and 
sovereio;nty  of  the  United  States  of  America. 

31.  Thus  ended  a  long  and  arduous  conflict,  in  which  Great 


Chap.  II.  declaration  of  independence.  2G1 

Britain  expended  near  a  hundred  millions  of  money,  with  a 
hundred  thousand  ii\^es,  and  won  nothing.  America  endured 
every  cruelty  and  distress  from  her  enemies — lost  many  lives 
and  much  treasure — but  delivered  herself  from  a  foreign  do- 
minion, and  gained  a  rank  among  the  nations  of  the  earth. 

When  was  the  declararlon  of  Ihdopendence  published! 
What  tended  to  raise  the  despoadiBg  hopes  of  America  in  the  latter  part  of 
17?  ti  ? 
What  splendid  advantages  did  the  Americans  gain  in  1777  7 
When  was  the  treaty  of  alliance  formed  between  the  French  and  Ameii* 

cans  t  ^«       TT        -» 

Wlio  took  the  command  of  the  English  army  on  the  return  of  Gen.  lioweT 

Why  was  Gen.  Lee  suspended? 

What  took  place  on  tlie  15th  July,  1779  7 

Where  and  under  what  circimistances  was  (>o<mt  Polaski  mortally  wounded  t 

What  prevented  West  Point  from  falling  into  llie  possession  of  the  EngUsh? 

What  (listinguished  French  military  and  naval  commanders  were  sent  to  tlia 
ai<i  of  America?  •  ,  t^     ,      ,      ^ 

VVliat  event  is  reckoned  to  have  decided  the  contest  between  England  an.a 
Americal  ,  ,  •/. 

IIow  much  money  did  England  expend,  and  how  many  lives  did  she  sacriiica 
in  the  warl 


CHAPTER  IL 

DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE, 

By  the  representatives  of  th  ft  United  States  of  America,  in 
Congress  assembled,  July  4,  1776. 

When,  in  the  course  of  human  events,  it  becomes  neces 
sary  for  one  people  to  dissolve  the  political  bands  which  hav« 
connected  them  with  another,  and  to  assume  among  the  pow 
ers  of  the  earth  the  separate  and  equal  station  to  which  the 
laws  of  nature  and  of  nature's  God  entitle  them,  a  decent  re 
spcct  for  the  opinions  of  mankind  requires,  that  they  shou^^ 
declare  the  causes  which  impel  them  to  the  separation. 

We  hold  these  truths  to  be  self-evident — that  all  men  are 
created  equal ;  that  they  are  endowed  by  their  Creator  witA 
certain  unalienable  rights;  that  among  these  are  life,  liberty 
and  the  pursuit  of  happiness.  Tliat,  to  secure  these  rights 
governments  are  instituted  among  men,  deriving  their  just 
])Owers  from  the  consent  of  the  governed ;  that  when  any 
form  of  government  becomes  destructive  of  these  ends,  it  is 
the  right  of  the  people  to  alter  or  to  abolish  it,  and  to  institute 
new  government,  laying  its  foundation  on  such  principles, 
and  organizing  its  powers  in  such  form  as  to  them  shall  seem 


262  '■^^  NEW   ENGLISH    READER.  pART  III. 

most  likely  to  effect  their  safety  and  happiness.  Prudence, 
indeed,  will  dictate,  that  governments  long  established, 
should  not  be  changed  for  light  and  transient  causes;  and, 
accordingly,  all  experience  hath  shown,  that  mankind  are 
more  disposed  to  suffer,  while  evils  are  sufl'erable,  than  to 
right  themselves  by  abolishing  the  forms  to  which  they  are 
accustomed.  But  when  a  long  train  of  abuses  and  usurpa- 
tions, pursuing  invariably  the  ^ame  object,  evinces  a  design 
to  reduce  them  under  absolute  despotism,  it  is  their  right,  it 
is  their  duty,  to  throw  off  such  government,  and  to  provide 
new  guards  for  their  future  security.  Such  has  been  the  pa- 
tient sufferance  of  these  colonies ;  and  such  is  now  the  ne- 
cessity which  constrains  them  to  alter  their  former  system 
of  government.  The  history  of  the  present  king  of  Great 
Britain  is  a  history  of  repeated  injuries  and  usurpations,  all 
having  in  direct  object  the  establishment  of  an  absolute 
tyranny  over  these  states.  To  prove  this,  let  facts  be  sub- 
mitted to  a  candid  world. 

He  has  refused  his  assent  to  laws  the  most  wholesome 
and  necessary  for  the  public  good. 

He  has  forbidden  his  governors  to  pass  laws  of  imme(!iate 
and  pressing  importance,  unless  suspended  in  their  opera- 
tion till  his  assent  should  be  obtained ;  and  when  so  sus- 
pended, he  has  utterly  neglected  to  attend  to  them. 

He  has  refused  to  pass  other  laws  for  the  accommodation 
of  large  districts  of  people,  unless  those  people  v/ould  re- 
Jinquish  the  right  of  represeiitation  in  the  legislature — a  right 
Miestimable  to  them,  and  formidable  to  tyrants  only. 

He  has  called  together  legislative  bodies,  at  places  un- 
usual, uncomfortable,  and  distant  from  the  depository  of 
txieir  public  records,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  fatiguing  them 
taito  compliance  with  his  measures. 

He  has  dissolved  representative  houses  repeatedly,  for  op- 
rc'^smg  with  manly  firmness,  his  invasions  on  the  rights  of 

e  people. 

He  has  refused  for  a  hug  time  after  such  dissolutions,  to 
iiuse  others  to  ])e  elected ;  whereby  the  legislative  powers, 
incapable  of  annihilation,  have  returned  to  the  people  at 
-arge  for  their  exercise;  the  state  remaining,  in  the  mean- 
time, exposed  to  all  the  danger  of  invasion  from  without,  and 
convulsions  witiiin. 

He  has  endeavored  to  prevent  the  population  of  these 
states ;  for  that  purpose  obstructing  the  laws  for  naturaliza- 
tion of  foreigners ;  refusing  to  pass  others  to  encourage  their 
migration  hither,  and  raising  the  conditions  of  new  appro- 
5jriations  of  lands. 


Chap.  II.        dfxlaration  of  independence.  2G3 

He  has  obstructed  the  administration  of  justice,  by  refusing 
his  assent  to  kiws  for  establishing  judiciary  powers. 

He  has  made  judges  dependent  on  his  will  alone,  for  the 
tenure  of  their  offices,  and  the  amount  and  payment  of  their 
salaries. 

He  has  erected  a  multitude  of  offices,  and  sent  here  swarms 
of  officers  to  harass  our  people,  and  eat  out  their  substance. 

He  has  kept  among  us,  in  times  of  peace,  standing  armies, 
without  the  consent  of  our  legislatures. 

He  has  affiicted  to  render  the  military  independent  of,  and 
superior  to,  the  civil  power. 

He  has  combined  with  others  to  subject  us  to  a  jurisdic- 
tion, foreign  to  our  constitution,  and  unacknowledged  by  our 
laws  ;  giving  his  assent  to  their  acts  of  pretended  legislation  : 

For  quartering  large  bodies  of  armed  troops  among  us  : 

For  protecting  them  by  a  mock  trial,  from  punishment  for 
any  murder  they  should  commit  on  the  inhabitants  of  these 
states  : 

For  cuttiiig  off  our  trade  with  all  parts  of  the  world: 

•For  imposing  taxes  on  us  without  our  consent : 

For  depriving  us,  in  many  cases,  of  the  benefits  of  trial  by 
jury: 

For  transporting  us  beyond  seas,  to  be  trie^d  for  pretended 
offenses: 

For  abolishing  the  free  systern  of  English  law  in  a  neigh- 
boring province,  establishing  tnerein  an  arbitrary  govern- 
ment, and  enlarging  its  boundaries  so  as  to  render  it  at  once 
an  example  and  fit  instrument  for  introducing  the  same  ab- 
solute rule  in  these  colonies  : 

For  taking  away  our  charters,  abolishing  our  most  valu- 
able laAvs,  and  altering  fundamentally  the  forms  of  our 
governments : 

For  suspending  our  own  legislatures,  and  declarina*  them- 
selves invested  with  power  to  legislate  for  us  in  all  cases 
whatsoever: 

He  has  abdicated  government  here,  by  declaring  us  out  of 
his  protection,  and  waging  war  against  us. 

He  has  plundered  our  seas,  ravaged  our  coasts,  burnt  our 
towns,  and  destroyed  the  lives  of  our  people. 

He  is,  at  this  time,  transporting  large  armies  of  foreign 
mercenaries,  to  complete  the  works  of  death,  desolation  and 
tyranny,  already  begun,  with  circumstances  of  cruelty  and 
perfidy,  scarcely  paralleled  in  the  most  barbarous  ages,  and 
totally  unworthy  the  head  of  a  civilized  nation. 

He  has  constrained  our  fellow  citizens,  taken  captive  on 
the  high  seas,  to  bear  arms  against  their  country,  to  become 


2CA  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  III. 

the   executioners  of  their  friends    and  brethren,  or  to   fall 
themselves  by  their  hands. 

He  has  excited  domestic  insurrections  amongst  us,  and  has 
endeavored  to  hnn^  on  the  inhabitants  of  our  froiitiers,  the 
merciless  Indian  savages,  wliose  known  riile  of  warfare  is  an 
undistinguished  destruction  of  all  ages,  sexes,  and  conditions. 

In  every  stage  of  these  oppressions,  we  have  petitioned 
for  redress,  in  the  most  humble  terms  :  our  petitions  have 
been  answered  only  by  repeated  injury.  A  prince  wliose 
character  is  thus  marked,  by  every  act  which  may  define  a 
tyrant,  is  unfit,  to  be  the  ruler  of  a  free  people. 

Nor  have  we  been  wanting  in  attention  to  our  British 
brethren.  We  have  warned  them,  from  time  to  time,  of  at- 
.  tempts  made  by  their  legislature,  to  extend  an  unwarrantable 
jurisdiction  over  us.  VV'e  have  reminded  them  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  our  emigration  and  settlement  here.  We 
have  appealed  to  their  native  justice  and  masrnanimity,  and 
^ve  have  conjured  them  by  the  ties  of  our  common  kindred, 
to  disavow  tliese  usurpations,  which  would  inevitably  inter- 
rupt our  connexions  and  correspondence.  They,  too,  have 
been  deaf  to  the  voice  of  justice  and  consanguinity.  We 
must,  therefore,  acquiesce  in  the  necessity,  which  denounces 
our  separation,  and  hold  them,  as  we  hold  the  rest  of  man- 
kind— enemies  in  war — in  peace,  friends. 

We,  therefore,  the  representatives  of  the  United  States  of 
America,  in  general  congress  assembled,  appealing  to  the 
Supreme  .ludge  of  the  world  for  the  rectitude  of  our  inten- 
tions, do,  in  the  name  and  by  the  authority  of  the  good  peo- 
ple of  these  colonies,  solemnly  j)ubii.sh  and  declare,  that 
these  united  colonies,  are,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  free  and 
independent  states  ;  that  they  are  absolved  from  all  allegi- 
ance to  the  British  crown,  and  that  all  political  connexion 
between  thetn  and  the  state  of  Great  Britain,  is  and  ought 
to  be  totally  dissolved  ;  and  that  as  free  and  independent 
states,  they  have  full  power  to  levy  war,  conclude  peace,  con- 
tract alliances,  establish  commerce,  and  do  all  other  acts  and 
things  which  independent  states  may  of  right  do.  And  for 
the  .support  of  tiiis  declaration,  with  a  firm  reliance  on  the 
protection  of  Divine  Providence,  we  mutually  pledge  to  each 
other  our  lives,  our  fortunes,  and  our  sacred  honor. 

Signed  by  order  and  in  behalf  of  the  Congress, 
JOHN  UANCOCK.Presideiit 

Attest,  Charles  Thompson,  Secretary, 

New  Tlnmpuhire — Josiah  Bartlett,  William  Whipple,  Ma- 
thew  Thornton, 


Chap.  III.     constitution  of  the  united  states.  265 

Mdssachiisetts  /i<^/?/— Samuel  Adams,  John  Adams,  Rob- 
ert Treat  Paine,  Elbridsfe  Gerry. 

Rliode  Island^  i^-c. — Stepnen  Hopkins,  William  Ellery. 

Connecficnt — Roger  Sherman,  Samuel  Huntington,  Wil- 
liam Williams,  Oliver  Wolcott. 

New  lor/c— William  Floyd,  Philip  Livingston,  Francis 
Lewis,  Lewis  Morris. 

Neu'  Jersey — Richard  Stockton,  John  Witlierspoon,  Fran- 
cis Hopkinson,  John  Hart,  Ahrahara  Clark. 

Pennsylvania — Robert  Morris,  Benjamin  Rush,  BcTija- 
min  Franklin,  John  Morton,  Greorge  Clymer,  James  Wilson, 
George  Ross. 

Delaware — Caesjar  Rodney,  Thomas  M'Kean,  George 
Read. 

Maryland — Samuel  Chase,  William  Paca,  Thomas 
Stone,  Charles  Carroll. 

l^irgima — George  Wythe,  Richard  Henry  Lee,  Thomas 
JefTerson,  Benjamin  Harrison,  Thomas  Nelson,  Jun.  Francis 
Liirhtfoot  Lee,  Carter  Braxton. 

North  Carolina — William  Hooper,  Joseph  Hewes,  John 
Penn. 

Sovtli  Carolina — Edward  Rutledge,  Thomas  Heyward, 
Jun.  Thomas  Lynch.  Jun.  Arthur  Middleton. 

Georgia — Buiton  Gwinnett,  Lyman  Hall,  George  Y/alton. 


CHAPTER  III. 


.    CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

We,  the  People  of  the  United  States,  in  order  to  form 
a  more  perfect  union,  establish  justice,  insure  domestic  tran- 
quillity, proviife  for  the  common  deferise,  promote  the  general 
wellare,  and  secure  the  blessings  of  liberty  to  ourselves  and 
our  ])osterity,  do  ordain  and  establish  this  Constitution  for 
the  United  Stales  of  America. 


Sec.  1.  All  legislative  powers  herein  granted,  shall  be 
vested  in  a  Congress  of  the  United  States,  which  shall  con- 
sist of  a  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives. 

Sec.  2.  The-  house  of  representatives  shall  be  composed 
of  members  chosen  every  second  year,  by  the  people  of  the 
several  states;  and  the  electors  in  each  state  shall  have  the 
qualitications  requisite  for  electors  of  the  most  numerous 
branch jof  the  state  legislature. 


S66  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  pART   III. 

No  person  shall  be  a  representative  who  sh^ll  not  have 
attained  to  the  age  of  twenty-iive  years,  anJ  been  seven 
years  a  citizen  of  the  United  States,  and  who  shall  not, 
when  elected,  be  an  inhabitant  of  that  state  in  which  he 
shall  be  chosen. 

Representatives  and  direct  taxes  shall  be  apportioned  among 
the  several  states  which  rnay  be  included  within  this  Union, 
according  to  their  respective  numbers,  which  shall  be  deter- 
mined by  adding  to  the  whole  number  of  free  persons, 
including  those  bound  to  service  for  a  term  of  years,  and 
excluding  Indians  not  taxed,  three  tlfths  of  all  other  persons. 
The  actual  enumeration  shall  be  made  within  three  years 
after  the  first  meeting  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States, 
and  within  every  subsequent  term  of  ten  years,  in  such  man- 
ner as  they  shall  by  law  direct.  The  number  of  representa- 
tives shall  not  exceed  one  for  every  thirty  thousand,  but  each 
state  shall  have  at  least  one  representative;  and  until  such 
enumeration  shall  be  made,  the  state  of  New  Hampshire 
shall  be  entitled  to  choose  three;  Massachusetts,  eight; 
Rhode  Island  and  Providence  Plantations,  one  ;  Connecticut, 
five:  New  York,  six;  New  Jersey,  four;  Pennsylvania, 
eight;  Delaware,  one  ;  Maryland,  six  ;  Virginia,  ten  ;  North 
Carolina,  five;  South  Carolina,  five;  and  Georgia,  three. 

When  vacancies  happen  in  the  representation  from  any 
state,  the  executive  authority  thereof  shall  issue  writs  of 
election  to  fill  such  vacancies. 

The  house  of  representatives  shall  choose  their  speaker 
and  other  officers,  and  shall  have  the  sole  power  of  impeach- 
ment. 

Sec.  3.  The  Senate  of  the  United  States  shall  be  composed 
of  two  senators  from  each  state,  chosen  by  the  legislature 
thereof,  for  six  years;  and  each  senator  shall  have  one  vote. 

Immediately  after  they  shall  be  assembled,  inconsequence 
of  the  first  election,  they  shall  be  divided  as  equally  as  may 
be,  into  three  classes.  The  seats  of  the  senators  of  the  first 
class,  shall  be  vacated  at  the  expiration  of  the  second  year, 
of  the  second  class  at  the  expiration  of  the  fourth  year,  and 
of  the  third  class  at  the  expiration  of  the  sixth  year,  so  that 
one  third  may  be  chosen  every  second  year ;  and  if  vacan- 
cies happen  by  resignation,  or  otherwise,  dtlring  the  recess 
of  the  legislature  of  any  state,  the  executive  thereof  may 
make  temporary  appointments  until  the  next  meeting  of  the 
legislature,  which  shall  then  fill  such  vacancies. 

No  person  shall  be  a  senator  who  shall  not  have  attained 
to  the  age  of  thirty  years,  and  been  nine  years  a  citizen  of 


Chap.  III.     constitution  of  the  united  states.  267 

tlie  United  States,  and  who  shall  not,  when  elected,  be  an 
inhabitant  of  that  state  for  which  he  shall  be  chosen. 

The  vice-president  of  the  United  States  shall  be  president 
of  the  senate,  but  shall  have  no  vote,  unless  they  be  equally- 
divided. 

The  senate  shall  choose  their  other  officers,  and  also  a  pre- 
sident pro  tempore,  in  the  absence  of  the  vice-president,  or 
when  he  shall  exercise  the  office  of  president  of  the  United 
States. 

The  senate  shall  have  the  sole  power  to  try  all  impeach- 
ments. When  sitting  for  that  purpose,  they  shall  be  on  oath 
or  affirmation.  When  the  president  of  the  United  States  is 
tried,  the  chief  justice  shall  preside  ;  and  no  person  shall  be 
convicted  without  the  concurrence  of  two  thirds  of  the  mem- 
bers present. 

Judgment  in  cases  of  impeachment  snail  not  extend  farther 
than  to  removal  from  office,  and  disqualification  to  hold  and 
enjoy  any  office  of  honor,  trust,  or  profit,  under  the  United 
States  ;  but  the  party  convicted  shall  nevertheless  be  liable 
and  subject  to  indictment,  trial,  judgment,  and  punishment, 
according  to  law. 

Sec.  4.  The  times,  places,  and  manner  of  holding  elections 
for  senators  and  representatives,  shall  be  prescribed  in  each 
state  by  the  legislature  thereof;  but  the  congress  may  at  any 
time,  by  law,  make  or  alter  such  regulations,  except  as  to  the 
places  of  choosing  senators. 

The  congress  shall  assemble  at  least  once  in  every  year, 
and  such  meetin<]:  phall  be  on  the  first  Monday  in  December, 
unless  they  shall  by  law  appoint  a  difTerent  day. 

Sec.  5.  Each  house  shall  be  the  judge  of  the  elections,  re- 
turns, and  qualifications  of  its  own  members  ;  and  a  majority 
of  each  shall  constitute' a  quorum  to  do  business;  but  a 
smaller  number  may  adjourn  from  day  to  day,  and  may  be 
authorized  to  compel  the  attendance  of  absent  members,  in 
such  manner,  and  under  such  penalties,  as  each  house  may 
provide. 

Each  house  may  determine  the  rules  of  its  proceedings, 
punish  its  members  for  disorderly  behavior,  and  with  the 
concurrence  of  two  thirds,  expel  a  member. 

Each  house  shall  keep  a  journal  of  its  proceedings,  and 
from  time  to  time  publish  the  same,  excepting  such  parts  as 
may  in  their  judgment  require  secrecy;  and  the  yeas  and 
nays  of  the  members  of  either  house,  on  any  question,  shall, 
at  the  desire  of  one  fifth  of  those  present,  be  entered  on  the 
journal. 

Neither  house,  during  the  session  of  congress,  shall,  with- 


268  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    III. 

out  tfie  consent  of  the  other,  adjourn  for  more  than  three 
days,  nor  to  any  other  place  than  that  in  which  the  two 
houses  shall  he  sitting. 

Ser.  6.  The  senators  and  representatives  shall  receive  a 
compensation  for  their  services,  to  he  ascertained  by  law,  and 
paid  out  of  tiie  treasury  of  the  United  States.  .  They  shall, 
in  all  cases,  except  treason,  felony,  and  breach  of  the  peace, 
be  privileged  from  arrest  during  their  attendance  at  the  ses- 
sion of  their  respective  houses,  and  in  going  to,  or  returning 
from  the  same  ;  and  for  any  speecli  or  debate  in  either  house, 
they  shall  not  be  questioned  in  any  other  place. 

No  senator  or  representative  shall,  during  the  time  for 
which  he  was  elected,  be  appointed  to  any  civil  office  under 
tlie  authority  of  the  United  States,  which  shall  have  been 
created,  or  the  emoluments  whereof  shall  have  been  increased 
during  such  time  ;  and  no  person  holding  any  office  under 
the  United  States,  shall  be  a  member  of  either  house  during 
his  continuance  in  office. 

Sec.  7.  All  bills  for  raising  revenue  shall  originate  in  the 
house  of  representatives;  but  the  senate  may  propose  or 
concur  with  amendments,  as  on  other  bills. 

Every  bill  which  shall  have  passed  the  house  of  represen- 
tatives and  the  senate^  shall,  before  it  become  a  law,  be  pre- 
sented to  the  president  of  the  United  States:  if  he  approve 
be  shall  sign  it;  but  if  not,  he  shall  return  it,  with  his  ob- 
jections, to  tliat  house  in  which  it  shall  have  originated,  who 
shall  enter  the  objections  at  large  on  their  journal,  and  pro- 
ceed to  reconsider  it.  If,  after  such  reconsideration,  two 
thirds  of  that  house  shall  agree  to  pass  the  bill,  it  shall  be 
sent,  together  with  the  objections,  to  the  other  house,  by  which 
it  shall  likewise  be  reconsidered,  and  uf  approved  by  two 
thirds  of  that  house,  it  shall  become  a  laW.  But  in  all  cases, 
the  votes  of  both  houses  shall  be  determined  by  yeas  and 
nays,  and  the  names  of  the  persons  voting  for  and  against 
the  bill,  shall  be  entered  on  the  journal  of  each  house  respec- 
tively. If  any  bill  shall  not  be  returned  by  the  president 
within  ten  days  (Sundays  excepted)  after  it  shall  have  been 
presented  to  him,  the  same  shall  be  a  law,  in  like  manner  as 
if  he  had  signed  it,  unless  the  congress,  by  their  adjournment, 
prevent  its  return,  in  which  case  it  shall  not  be  a  law. 

Every  order,  resolution,  or  vote,  to  which  the  concurrence 
of  the  senate  and  house  of  representatives  may  be  necessary, 
(except  on  a  question  of  adjournment,)  shall  be  presented  to 
the  president  of  the  United  States  ;  and  before  the  same  shall 
take  effect,  shall  be  approved  by  him,  or  being  disapproved 
by  him,  shall  be  repassed  by  two  thirds  of  the  senate  and 


Chap.  III.     constitution  of  the  united  states.  2G9 

house  of  representatives,  according  to  the  rules  and  limita- 
tions prescribed  in  the  case  of  a  bill. 

Sec.  8.  The  congress  shall  have  power 

To  lay  and  collect  taxes,  duties,  imposts,  and  excises,  to  pay 
the  debts  and  provide  for  the  common  defense  and  general 
welfare  of  the  United  States ;  but  all  duties,  imposts,  and 
excises,  shall  be  uniform  throughout  the  United  States: 

To  borrow  money  on  the  credit  of  the  United  States : 

To  regulate  commerce  with  foreign  nations,  and  among 
the  several  states,  and  with  the  Indian  tribes : 

To  establish  a  uniform  rule  of  naturalization,  and  uniform 
laws  on  the  subject  of  bankruptcies  throughout  the  United 
States : 

To  coin  money,  regulate  the  value  thereof,  and  of  foreign 
coin,  and  fix  the  standard  of  weights  and  measures  : 

To  provide  for  the  punishment  of  counterfeiting  the  se- 
curities and  current  coin  of  the  United  States : 

To  establish  post  offices  and  post  roads  : 

To  promote  the  progress  of  science  and  useful  arts,  hy 
securing,  for  limited  times,  to  authors  and  inventors,  the  ex- 
clusive right  to  their  respective  writings  and  discoveries: 

To  constitute  tribunals  inferior  to  the  supreme  court : 

To  define  and  punish  piracies  and  felonies  conimitted  on 
the  high  seas,  and  offenses  against  the  law  of  nations  : 

To  declare  war,  grant  letters  of  marque  and  reprisal,  and 
make  rules  concerning  captures  on  land  and  water: 

To  raise  and  support  armies  ;  but  no  appropriation  of 
money  to  that  use  shall  be  for  a  longer  term  than  two  years  : 

To  provide  and  maintain  a  navy  : 

To  make  rules  for  the  government  and  regulation  of  the 
land  and  naval  forces : 

To  provide  for  calling  forth  the  militia  to  execute  the 
laws  of  the  Union,  suppress  insurrections,  and  repel  inva- 
sions : 

To  provide  for  organizing,  arming,  and  disciplining  the 
militia,  and  for  governing  such  parts  of  them  as  may  be 
employed  in  the  service  of  the  United  States,  reserving  to 
the  states  respectively,  the  appointment  of  the  officers,  and 
the  authority  of  training  the  militia  according  to  the  disci- 
pline prescribed  by  congress : 

To  exercise  exclusive  legislation  in  all  cases  whatsoever, 
over  such  district  (not  exceeding  ten  miles  square)  as  may, 
by  cession  of  particular  states,  and  the  acceptance  .^of  con- 
gress, become  the  seat  of  government  of  the  United  States, 
and  to  exercise  like  authority  over  all  places  purchased  by 
the  consent  of  the  le2:islature  of  the  state  in  which  the  same 


270  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   III. 

shall  be,  for  the  erection  of  forts,  magazines,  ars^als,  dock- 
yards, and  other  needful  buildings  : — And 

To  make  all  laws  which  shall  be  necessary  and  proper  for 
carrying  into  execution  the  foregoing  powers,  and  all  other 
powers  vested  by  this  constitution  in  the  government  of  the 
United  States,  or  in  any  department  or  officer  thereof. 

Sec.  9.  The  migration  or  importation  of  such  persons  as 
any  of  the  states  now  existing  shall  think  proper  to  admit, 
shall  not  be  prohibited  by  the  congress  prior  to  the  year  one 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  eight;  but  a  tax  or  duty  may  be 
imposed  on  such  importation,  not  exceeding  ten  dollars  for 
each  person. 

The  privilege  of  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus  shall  not  be 
suspended,  unless  when,  in  cases  of  rebellion  or  invasion, 
the  public  safety  may  require  it. 

No  bill  of  attainder  or  ex  post  facto  law  shall  be  passed. 

No  capitation,  or  other  direct  tax,  shall  be  laid,  unless  in 
proportion  to  the  census  or  enumeration  herein  before  direct- 
ed to  be  taken. 

No  tax  or  duty  shall  be  laid  on  articles  exported  from  any 
stale.  No  preference  shall  be  given  by  any  regulation  of 
commerce  br  revenue  to  the  ports  of  one  state  over  those  of 
another ;  nor  shall  vessels  bound  to  or  from  one  state  be 
obliged  to  enter,  clear,  or  pay  duties  in  another. 

No  money  shall  be  drawn  from  the  treasury,  but  in  conse- 
quence of  appropriations  made  by  law  ;  and  a  regular  state- 
ment and  account  of  the  receipts  and  expenditures  of  all 
public  money  shall  be  published  from  time  to  time. 

No  title  of  nobility  shall  be  granted  by  the  United  States, 
and  no  person  holding  any  office  of  profit  or  trust  under 
them,  shall,  without  the  consent  of  the  congress,  accept  of 
any  present,  emolument,  office,  or  title  of  any  kind  w^hatever, 
from  any  king,  prince,  or  foreign  state. 

Sec.  10.  No  state  shall  enter  into  any  treaty,  alliance,  or 
confederation  ;  grant^  letters  of  marque  and  reprisal ;  coin 
money  ;  emit  bills  of  creilit ;  make  any  thing  but  gold  and 
silver  coin  a  tender  in  payment  of  debts ;  pass  any  bill  of  at- 
tainder, ex  post  facto  law,  orlpw  impairing  the  obligation  ot 
contracts;  or  grant  any  title  of  nobility. 

No  state  shall,  without  the  consent  of  the  congress,  lay  any 
imposts  or  duties  on  imports  or  exports,  except  what  may  be 
absolutely  necessary  for  executing  its  inspection  laws  ;  and 
the  net  produce  of  all  duties  and  imposts,  laid  by  any  state 
on  imports  or  exports,  shall  be  for  the  use  of  the  treasury  of 
the  United  States;  and  all  such  lav/s  shall  be  subject  to  the 
revision  and  control  of  the  congress.   No  state  shall,  without 


OHAP  III.      CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.  271 

the  consent  of  congress,  lay  any  duty  of  tonnage,  keep 
troops  or  ships  of  war  in  time  of  peace,  enter  into  any  agree- 
ment or  compact  with  another  state,  or  with  a  foreign  power, 
or  engage  in  war,  unless  actually  invaded,  or  in  such  im- 
minent danger  as  will  not  admit  of  delay. 


ARTICLE    II. 

Sec.  1.  The  executive  power  shall  be  vested  in  a  president 
of  the  United  States  of  America.  He  shall  hold  his  office 
during  the  term  of  four  years,  and,  together  with  the  vice- 
president,  chosen  for  the  same  term, be  elected  as  follows: — 

Each  state  shall  appoint,  in  such  manner  as  the  legislature 
thereof  may  direct,  a  number  of  electors,  equal  to  the  whole 
number  of  senators  and  representatives  to  w^hich  the  state 
may  be  entitled  in  the  congress  ;  but  no  senator  or  represen- 
tative or  person  holding  any  office  of  trust  or  profit  under 
the  United  States,  shall  be  appointed  an  elector. 

[The  electors  shall  meet  in  their  respective  states,  and 
vote  by  ballot  for  two  persons,  of  whom  one  at  least  shall 
not  be  an  inhabitant  of  the  same  state  with  themselves. 
And  they  shall  make  a  list  of  all  the  persons  voted  for,  and 
of  the  number  of  votes  for  each  ;  which  list  they  shall  sign 
and  certify,  and  transmit  sealed  to  the  seat  of  the  govern 
ment  of  the  United  States,  directed  to  the  president  of  the 
senate  ;  the  president  of  the  senate  shall,  in  the  presence  oi 
the  senate  and  house  of  representatives,  open  all  the  certi- 
ficates, and  the  votes  shall  then  be  counted  ;  the  person  having 
the  greatest  number  of  votes  shall  be  the  president,  if  such 
number  be  a  majority  of  the  whole  number  of  electors  ap- 
pointed; and  if  there  be  more  than  one  who  have  such  ma- 
jority and  have  an  equai  number  of  votes,  then  the  house  of 
representatives  shall  nnmediately  choose,  by  ballot,  one  of 
them  for  president;  and  if  no  person  have  a  majority,  then 
from  the  fiv^e  highest  on  the  list,  the  said  house  shall,  in  like 
manner,  choose  the  president.  But  in  choosing  the  presi- 
dent, the  votes  shall  be  taken  by  states,  the  representation 
from  each  state  having  one  vote  :  a  quorum  for  this  purpose 
shall  consist  of  a  member  or  members  from  tvvo-"thirds  of  the 
states  and  a  majority  of  all  the  states  shall  be  necessary  to 
ajchoice.  In  every  case,  after  the  choice  of  the  president, 
the  person  having  the  greatest  number  of  votes  of  the  elect- 
ors, shall  be  the  vice-president.  But  if  there  should  remain 
two  or  more  who  have  equal  votes,  the  senate  shall  choose 
from  them,  by  ballot,  the  vice-president.]* 

*  This  paragraph  is  annulled.— See  amendment,  Article  12. 


272  KEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  III. 

The  conc^ress  may  determine  the  time  of  choosing  the 
electors,  and  the  day  on  which  they  shall  give  their  votes  j 
which  day  shall  he  the  same  throughout  the  United  States. 

No  person  except  a  natural  horn  citizen,  or  a  citizen  of  the 
United  States,  at  the  time  of  the  adoption  of  this  constitution, 
shall  be  eligible  to  the  office  of  president ;  neither  shall  any 
person  be  eligible  to  that  office',  who  shall  not  have  attained 
to  the  age  of  thirty-five  years,  and  been  fourteen  years  a  resi- 
dent within  the  United  States. 

In  case  of  the  removal  of  the  president  from  office,  or  of  his 
death,  resignation,  or  inability  to  discharge  the  powers  and 
duties  of  the  said  office,  the  same  shall  devolve  on  the  vice- 
president;  and  the  congress  may,  by  law,  provide  for  the 
case  of  removal,  death,  resignation,  or  inability,  both  of  the 
president  and  vice-president,  declaring  what  officer  shall  then 
act  as  president,  and  such  officer  shall  act  accordingly,  until 
the  disability  be  removed,  or  a  president  shall  be  elected. 

The  president  shall  at  stated  times,  receive  for  his  services 
a  compensation,  which  shall  neither  be  increased  nor  di- 
minished, during  the  period  for  which  he  shall  have  been 
elected,  and  he  shall  not  receive  within  that  period  any  other 
emolument  from  the  United  States  or  any  of  them. 

Before  he  enter  on  the  execution  of  his  office,  he  shall 
take  the  following  oaUi  or  affirmation : 

"  I  do  solemnly  swear  (or  affirm)  that  I  will  faithfully 
execute  the  office  of  president  of  the  United  States,  and  will, 
to  the  best  of  my  ability,  preserve,  protect,  and  defend  the 
constitution  of  the  United  States." 

Sec.  2.  The  president  shall  be  commander  in  chief  of  the 
army  and  navy  of  the  United  States,  and  of  the  militia* of 
the  several  states,  when  called  into  the  actual  service  of  the 
United  States  :  he  may  require  the  opinion,  in  writing,  of 
the  principal  officer  in  each  of  the  executive  departments, 
upon  any  subject  relating  to  the  duties  of  their  respective 
offices;  and  he  shall  have  power  to  grant  reprieves  and 
pardons  for  offenses  against  the  United  States,  except  in 
cases  of  impeachment. 

He  shall  have  power,  by  and  with  the  advice  and  consent 
of  the  Senate,  to  make  treaties,  provided  two  thirds  of  the 
senators  present  concur:  and  he  shall  nominate,  and  bv  and 
with  the  advice  and  consent  of  the  senate,  shall  appoint  em- 
bassadors, other  public  ministers  and  consuls,  judges  of  the 
supreme  court,  and  all  other  officers  of  the  United  States, 
whose  appointments  are  not  herein  otherwise  provided  for, 
andM^bich  shall  be  established  by  law :  but  the  congress  may. 
by  law,  vest  the  appointment  of  such  inferior  officers  as  they 


Chap.  III.    constitution  of  the  united  states.  27S 

think  proper,  in  the  president  alone,  in  the  courts  of  law,  or 
in  the  heads  of  departments. 

The  president  shall  have  power  to  fill  up  all  vacancies 
that  may  happen  during  the  recess  of  the  senate,  by  granting 
commissions  which  shall  expire  at  the  end  of  their  next 
session. 

Sec.  3.  He  shall,  from  time  to  time,^give  to  the  congress 
information  of  the  state  of  the  union,  and  recommend  to 
their  consideration,  such  measures  as  he  shall  judge  neces- 
sary and  expedient ;  he  may,  on  extraordinary  occasions, 
convene  bo^i  houses,  or  either  of  them,  and  in  case  of- a  dis- 
agreement between  them,  with  respect  to  the  time  of  ad- 
journment, he  may  adjourn  them  to  such  time  as  he  shall 
think  proper;  he  shall  receive  embassadors  and  other  public 
ministers;  he  shall  take  care  that  the  laws  be  faithfully  ex- 
ecuted, and  shall  commission  all  the  officers  of  the  United 
States. 

>SV\  4.  The  president,  vice-president,  and  all  civil  officers 
of  tlie  United  States,  shall  be  removed  from  office  on  im- 
peachment for,  and  conviction  of,  treason,  bribery,  or  other 
high  crimes  and  misdemeanors. 

article   III. 

Sec.  1.  The  judicial  power  of  the  United  States  shall  be 
vested  in  one  supreme  court,  and  in  such  inferior  courts  as 
the  congress  may,  from  time  to  time,  ordain  and  establish. 
The  judges  both  of  the  supreme  and  inferior  courts  shall 
hold  their  offices  during  good  behavior;  and  shall,  at  stated 
times,  receive  for  their  services  a  compensation,  which  shall 
not  he  diminished  during  their  continuance  in  office. 

Sec.  2.  The  judicial  power  shall  extend  to  all  cases,  in 
law  and  equity,  arising  under  this  constitution,  the  laws  of 
the  United  States,  and  treaties  made,  or  which  shall  be  made, 
under  their  authority;  to  all  cases  affecting  embassadors,- 
other  public  ministers,  and  consuls;  to  all  cases  of  admiralty- 
and  maritime  jurisdicti'On  ;  to  controversies  to  which  the 
United  States  shall  be  a  party  ;  to  controversies  between  two 
or  more  states,  betAveen  a  state  and  citizens  of  another  state, 
between  citizens  of  different  states  ;  between  citizens  of  the 
same  state,  claiming  lands  under  grants  of  different  states, 
and  between  a  state,  or  the  citizens  theraof,  and  foreign  states, 
citizens,  or  subjects. 

In  all  cases  affecting  embassadors,  other  public  ministers, 

and  consuls,  and  those  in  which  a  state  shall  be  a  party,  the 

supreme  court  shall  have  original  jurisdiction.     In  all  the 

other  cases  before  mentioned,  the  supreme  court  shall  have 

18 


274  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  III. 

appellate  jurisdiction,  botii  as  To  law  and  fact,  with  such 
exceptions,  and  under  such  regulations,  as  the  congress  shall 
make. 

The  trial  of  all  crimes,  except  in  cases  of  impeachment, 
shall  be  by  jury ;  and  such  trial  shall  be  held  in  the  state 
where  the  said  crimes  shall  have  been  committed  ;  but  when 
not  committed  within  any  state,  the  trial  shall  be  at  such 
place  or  places  as  the  congress  may  by  law  have  directed. 

Sec.  3.  Treason  against  the  United  States,  shall  consist 
only  in  levying  war  against  them,  or  in  adhering  to  their 
enemies,  giving  them  aid  and  comfort.  No  person  shall  be 
convicted  of  treason  unless  on  the  testimony  of  two  witnesses 
to  the  same  overt  act,  or  on  confession  in  open  court. 

The  congress  shaU  have  power  to  declare  the  punishment 
of  treason  ;  but  no  attainder  of  treason  shall  worif  corruption 
of  blood,  or  forfeiture,  except  during  the  life  of  the  person 
attainted. 


ARTICLE  IV. 

Sec.  1.  Full  faith  and  credit  shall  be  given  m  each  state 
to  the  public  acts,  records,  and  judicial  proceedings  of  every 
other  state.  And  the  congress  may,  by  general  laws,  pre- 
scribe the  manner  in  which  such  acts,  records,  and  proceed- 
ings, shall  be  proved,  and  the  effect  thereof. 

Sec.  2.  The  citizens  of  each  state  shall  be  entitled  to  all 
privileges  and  immunities  of  citizens  in  the  several  states. 

A  person  charged  in  any  state  with  treason,  felony,  or 
other  crime,  who  shall  flee  from  justice,  and  be  found  in 
aniother  state,  shall,  on  demand  of  the  executive  authority  of 
the  slate  from  which  he  fled,  be  delivered  up,  to  be  removed 
to  the  state  havinii:  jurisdiction  of  the  crime. 

No  person  held  to  service  or  labor  in  one  state,  under  the 
laws  thereof,  escaping  into  another,  shall,  in  consequence  of 
any  law  or  regulation  therein,  be  discharged  from  such  ser- 
vice or  labor,  but  shall  be  delivered  up  on  claim  of  the  party 
to  whom  such  service  or  labor  may  be  due. 

Sec.  3.  New  states  may  be  admitted  by  the  congress  into 
this  union,  but  no  new  state  shall  be  farmed  or  erected  with- 
in the  jurisdiction  of  any  other  state ;  nor  any  state  be  formed 
^  the  junction  of  two  or  more  states,  or  parts  of  states, 
without  the  consent  of  the  legislatures  of  the  states  concern- 
ed, as  well  as  of  the  congress. 

The  congress  shall  have  power  to  dispose  of,  and  make  all 
needful  rules  and  regulations  respecting  the  territory  or  other 
property  belonging  to  the  United  States  ;  and  nothing  in  thii 


ClUr.m.       CONSTITDTION    OF    TflE    UMTKD    STA'IES.  275 

con>titution  shall  be  so  conslriied  as  to  prejudice  any  claims 
01  I  lie  Uiiifeil  S(afe>,  or  of  any  particular  slate. 

^Vf".  4.  riie  United  Slates  shall  ;:^uaraniy  to  every  state 
ii)  liu'  unio!i  a  republican  form  of  (jjovernment,  and  sha]4 
pr(»iec(  Ha<'h  of  them  ai^aitist  invasion  ;  and  on  application  of 
the  le«i-lHlure,  or  of  the  exe(!Utive  (when  the  legislature  can- 
nut  l)e  con  veiled)  against  domestic  violence. 

A[?T!CLE  V. 

The  congress,'  whenever  two-thirds  of  both  liouses  sliall 
det-rn  it  necessary,  shall  propo>«e  amendmenls  to  this  consti- 
tutidii,  or.  on  the  application  of  the  legi^latures  of  two-thirds 
of  the  several  slates,  shall  call  a  convention  for  proposing 
arnendn>ents,  which,  in  either  case,  shall  be  valid  to  all  in- 
tents and  purposes  as  part  of  this  constitution, Avhen  ratified 
by  the  legislatures  of  three-fourths  of  the  several  slates,  or  by 
convention'^  in  tliree-fourlhs  thereof,  as  the  one  or  the  other 
mode  of  ratification  may  be  proposed  by  the  congress:  Pro- 
vided, that  no  ailftendment  which  may  l)e  made  [)rior  to  the 
year  one  ihou-and  eight  hundred  and  eight,  shall  in  any 
manner  aflect  the  first  and  fourth  clauses  in  the  ninth  section 
of  the  first  article ;  and  that  no  state,  without  its  consent, 
shall  be  deprived  of  its  equal 'Suffrage  in  the  senate. 

ARTICLE  VI. 

All  debts  contracted,  and  engagements  entered  into,  before 
the  adoption  of  this  constitution,  shall  be  as  valid  against 
the  United  States  under  this  constitution,  as  under  the  con- 
federrttioM.  4 

This  constitution,  and  the  laws  of  the  United  States  which 
shall  be  made  in  pursuance  thereof;  and  all  treaties  made, 
or  which  >hall  be  made,  under  the  authority  of  the  United 
States,  shall  be  the  supreme  law  of  the  land  ;  and  the  judges 
in  evegy  state  shall  be  bound  thereby,  any  thing  in  the  con^ 
stitution  or  law  of  any  state  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 

The  senators  and  representatives  before  mentioned,  and 
the  members  of  the  several  state  le^gislatutes,  and  all  exe- 
cutive and  judicial  officers,  both  of  tfie  United  States  and  of 
the  several  states,  shall  bo  bound  by  oath  or  affirmation,  to 
support  this  constitution:  Lut  no  religious  test  shall  ever  be 
required  as  a  qualification  to  any  office  or  public  tru;^t  under 
liie  United  Siutes. 

ARTICLE  VII. 

The  ratification  of  the  convention  of  nine  states,  shall  be 


276  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    IIL 

sufncient  for  the  establishment  of  this  constitution  betweea 
tfie  states  so  ratifying  the  same. 

Dune  in  co^jvention,  by   the   unanimous  consent  of  the 
states  present,  the  17ih  clay  of  September,  in  the  year  of 
our  Lord  1787,  and  of  the  Independence  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  the  twelfth.     In  Avitness  whereof^V 
we  have  hereunto  subscribed  our  names.  ^\ 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON,  President,^ 
and  Deputy  from  Virginia. 
New  Tlampshire — John  Langdon,  Nicholas  Gilman. 
Massachusetts — Nathaniel  Gorhara,  Rufus  King. 
CunneciiciU — William  Samuel  Johnson,  Roger  Sherman. 
Neio  TorA:— Alexander  Hamilton. 

New  Jersey — William  Livingston,  David  Brearly,William 
Patterson,  Jonathan  Dayton. 

Pennsylvania — Benjamin  Franklin,  Thomas  Mifflin,  Ro- 
bert Morris,  George  Ciymer,  Thomas  Fitzsimons,  Jared  in- 
gersoli,  James  Wilson,  Governeur  Morris. 

I}ela%vare — George  Reed,  Gunning  Bedford,  Jun..  John 
Dickinson,  Richard  Bassett,  Jacob  Broom. 

Maryland — James  M'Henry,  Dan'l  of  St.  -Tho.  Jenifer, 
Da.Qiel  Carroll. 

Virginia. — John  Blair,  James  Madison,  Jun. 
NorthCarolina — William  Blount,  Richard  Dobbs  Spaight^ 
Hu-^h  Williamson. 

^}ioulh  Carolina — John  Rutledge,  Charles  C.  Pinckney, 
Cftarles  Pinckney,  Pierce  Butler.  ' 

Georgia — William  Few,  Abraliam  Baldwin. 

Attest,        William  Jackson,  Secretary. 


AMENDMENTS. 


Congress  shall  make  no  law  respecting  an  establishment 
of  religion,  or  prohibiting  the  free  exercise  thereof;  or 
abridging  the  freedom  of  speech,  or  of  the  press;  of  the  right 
oj  the  people  peaceably  to  assemble,  and  to  petition  the  go- 
vernment for  a  redress  of  grievances. 

^  ARTICLE  II. 

A  well  regulated  militia  being  necessary  to  the  security 
of  a  free  state,  the  right  of  the  people  to  keep  and  bear  arms, 
sliiiH  not  be  infringed. 

ARTICLE  III. 

Ko  soldier  shall,  in  time  of  peaccj  be  quartered  in  any  house 


ClIAP.  III.       CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.  277 

without  the  consent  of  the  owner;  nor  in  time  of  war,  but 
in  a  manner  to  be  prescribed  by  law. 

ARTICLE    IV. 

The  rii^ht  of  the  people  to  be  secure  in  their  persons, 
houses,  paper?,  and  eftects,  aganist  unreasonable  searches  and 
seizures,  slmll  not  be  violated  ;  and  no  warrants  bhall  issue, 
but  upon  probable  cau^e,  supported  by  oath  or  atiirmation, 
and  ])iuticularly  describing  tlie  place  to  be  searched,  and  tlie 
persons  or  things  to  be  seized. 

AIITICLE    V. 

No  person  sliall  be  held  to  answer  for  a  capital  or  otherwise 
iiifamous  crime,  unless  on  a  presentment  or  indictment  of  a 
grand  jury,  except  in  cases  arising  in  the  land  or  naval  forces, 
or  in  the  militia  when  in  actual  service,  in  time  of  war  or 
puljlic  danger;  nor  shall  any  person  be  subject  for  the  same 
oifense  to  be  twice  put  in  jeopardy  of  life  or  limb  ;  nor  shall 
be  compelled,  in  any  criminal  case,  to  be  a  witness  against 
himself,  nor  be  deprived  of  life,  liberty,  or  property,  wiihou!: 
due  process  of  law  ;  nOr  shall  private  property  be  taken  fo? 
public  use,  without  just  compensation. 

ARTICLE    VI. 

In  all  criminal  prosecutions  the  accused  shall  enjoy  thr 
right  to  a  speedy  and  public  trial,  by  an  impartial  jury  of  the 
state  and  district  wherein  the  crime  shall  have  been  commit 
led,  which  district  shall  have  been  previously  ascertained  by 
law,  and  to  be  informed  of  the  nature  and  cause  of  the  accusa- 
tion ;  to  be  confronted  with  the  witnesses  against  him;  to 
have  compulsory  process  for  obtaining  witnesses  in  his  fp 
vor ;  and  to  have  the  assistance  of  counsel  for  his  defense 

ARTICLE    vii. 

In  suits  at  common  law,  where  the  value  in  controversy 
shall  exceed  twenty  dollars,  the  right  of  trial  by  jury  shall 
be  preserved  ;  and  no  fact  iried  by  a  jury,  shall  be  otherwise 
re-examined  in  any  court  of  the  United  States,  than  accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  the  common  law. 

AR-'-^CLE    VIII. 

Excessive  bail  shall  not  be  required,  nor  excessive  fines 
im})osed,  nor  cruel  and  unusual  punishments  inflicted. 


278  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  III. 


ARTICLE    IX. 


The  enumeration  in  the  constitution  ot"  certain  rights, 
shall  not  be  construed  to  deny  or  disparage  others  retained 
by  the  people. 


ARTICLE    X. 


The  powers  not  delegated  to  tke  United  States  by  the 
constitution,  nor  prohibited  by  it  to  the  stales,  are  reserved 
to  the  stales  respectively,  or  to  the  people. 


ARTICLE    XL 


The  judicial  power  of  the  United  Sl.'jtes  shall  not  be  con- 
strued to  extend  to  any  suit  in  law  or  equity,  commenced  or 
prosecuted  against  one  ot'  the  United  fc tales  by  citizens  of 
another  state,  or  by  citizens  or  subjects  of  any  foreign  state. 


ARTICLE     XII. 


The  electors  shall  meet  in  their  respective  states,  and  vote 
by  ballot,  for  president  and  vice-president,  one  of  whom  ai 
least,  shall  not  be  an  inhabitant  of  the  sanie  state  with  them- 
selves ;  they  shall  name,  in  tlieir  ballots,  the  person  voted  (or 
as  president,  and  in  distinct  ballots  the  person  voted  for  as 
vice-president;  and  they  shall  make  distinct  lists  of  all  per- 
sons voted  for  as  president,  and  of  all  persons  voted  for  as 
rice-president,  and  of  the  number  of  votes  for  each,  which 
ist  they  shall  sign  and  certify,  and  transmit,  sealed,  to  the 
.'seal  of  ihe  government  of  the  United  States,  directed  to  the 
j)resident  of  the  senate.  The  president  of  the  senate  shall, 
m  the  presence  of  the  senate  and  house  of  representatives, 
open  all  t!ie  certificates,  and  the  votes  shall  then  be  counted. 
The  person  having  the  greatest  number  of  votes  for  president, 
fhall  be  the  president,  if  such  number  be  a  majority  of  the 
vnole  number  of  electors  appointed  ;  and  if  no  person  have 
«uch  majority,  then  from  the  persons  havinj^  the  highest 
\,<jrr.bers,  not  exceeding  three,  on  the  list  of  those  voted  for 
^  president,  the  house  of  representatives  shall  choose  irnme- 
iiately,  by  ballot,  the  president.  But  in  choosing  the  presi- 
dent, the  votes  shall  be  taken  by  states,  the  representation 
from  each  state  having  one  vote;  a  quorum  tor  this  purpose 
snail  consist  of  a  member  or  members  from  two-thirds  (>f  the 
states,  and  a  majority  of  all  the  states  shall  be  necessary  to  a 
choice.  And  if  the  house  of  representatives  shall  not  choose 
a  president  whenever  the  right  of  choice  shall  devolve  upon 
tiiem,  before  the  fourth  day  of  March  next  following,  then 


Chap.  III.    constitution  cf  the  united  states.  279 

the  vice-president  shall   act  as  president,  as  in  case  of  the 
death  or  other  constitutional  disability  of  tiie  president. 

The  person  having  the  greatest  number  of  voles  as  vice- 
president,  shall  be  the  vice-president,  if  such  number  be  a 
majority  of  the  whole  number  of  electors  appointed ;  and  if 
no  person  have  a  majority,  then,  from  the  two  highest  nun>- 
bers  on  the  list,  the  senate  shall  choose  the  vice-president: 
a  quorum  for  the  purpose  shall  consist  of  two-thirds  of  the 
whole  number  of  senators,  and  a  majority  of  the  whtUc 
number  shall  be  necessary  to  a  choice.  But  no  person  con- 
stitutionally ineligible  to  the  office  of  president,  shall  be 
eligible  to  that  of  vice-president  of  the  United  States. 


280  NEW   ENGLISH   READER.  PaRT   III. 

CHAPTER  IV. 


CONSTITUTION  OF  NEW  YORK. 

We,  the  people  of  the  state  of  New  York,  acknowledi^ing 
with  gratitude  the  grace  and  beneficence  of  God,  in  permit^ 
ting  us  to  make  choice  of  our  form  of  government,  do  esta- 
blish this  constitution. 

ARTICLE   I. 

Sec.  1.  The  legislative  power  of  this  state  shall  oe  vested 
in  a  senate  and  an  assembly. 

2.  The  senate  shall  consist  of  thirty-two  members.  The 
senators  shall  be  chosen  for  four  years,  and  shall  be  free- 
holders. The  assembly  shall  consist  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty-eight  members,  who  shall  be  annually  elected. 

3.  A  majority  of  each  house  shall  constitute  a  quorum  to 
do  business.  Each  house  shall  determine  tlie  rules  of  its 
own  proceedings,  and  be  the  judge  of  the  qualifications  of 
its  own  members.  Each  house  shall  choose  its  own  officers; 
and  the  senate  shall  choose  a  temporary  president,  when  the 
lieutenant  governor  shall  not  attend  as  president,  or  shall  act 
as  governor. 

4.  Each  house  shall  keep  a  journal  of  its  proceedings,  and 
publish  the  same,  except  such  parts  as  may  require  secrecy. 
The  doors  of  each  house  shall  be  kept  open,  except  when  the 
puWic  welfare  shall  require  secrecy.  Neither  house  shall, 
without  the  consent  of  the  other,  adjourn  for  more  than  two 
days. 

5.  The  state  shall  be  divided  into  eight  districts,  to  be  call- 
ed senate  districts,  each  of  which  shall  choose  four  senators. 

The  first  district  shall  consist  of  the  counties  of  Suffolk, 
Queens,  Kincfs.  Richmond,  and  New  York. 

The  second  district  shall  consist  of  the  counties  of  West- 
che?:ter,  Putnam,  Duchess,  Rockland,  Orange,  Ulster,  and 
Sullivan. 

The  third  district  shall  consist  of  the  counties  of  Greene. 
Columbia,  Albany,  Rensselaer,  Schoharie,  and  Schenectadyl 

The  fourth  district  shall  consist  of  the  counties  of  Sara- 
toga, Montgomery,  Hamilton,  Washington,  Warren,  Clin- 
ton, Essex,  Franklin,  and  St.  LaNvrcnce. 

The  fifth  district  shall  consist  of  the  counties  of  Herkimer, 
Oneida,  Madison,  Oswego,  Lewis,  and  Jefferson. 


CllAP.   IV.  CONSTITUTION    OF   NEW   YORK.  281 

The  sixth  district  shall  consist  of  the  counties  of  Delaware, 
Otse^^o,  Chenango,  Broome,  Gorlhuid,  Tonjpkins.and  Tioga. 

The  seventh  district  shall  consist  of  the  counties  of  On- 
ondajra,  Cayuga,  Seneca,  and  Ontario. 

The  eighth  "district  shall  consist  of  the  counties  of  Steu- 
ben, Livingston,  Monroe,  Genesee,  Niagara,  Erie,  Allegany, 
Cattaraugus,  and  Chautauque. 

As  soon  as  the  senate  shall  meet,  after  the  first  election  to 
be  held  in  pursuance  of  this  constitution,  they  shall  cause  the 
senators  to  be  divided  by  lot.  into  four  classes,  of  eight  in 
each,  so  that  every  district  shall  have  one  senator  of  each 
class  :  the  classes  to  be  numbered,  one,  two,  three,  and  lour. 
And  the  seats  of  the  first  class  shall  be  vacated  at  the  end  of 
the  first  year ;  of  the  second  class,  at  the  end  of  the  second 
year;  of  the  third  class,  at  the  end  of  the  third  year;  of  the 
fourth  class,  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  year;  in  order  that  cne 
senator  be  annually  elected  in  each  senate  district. 

6.  An  enumeration  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  state  shall.be 
taken,  under  the  direction  of  the  legislature,  in  the  year  one 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  twentv-five,  and  at  the  end  of 
every  ten  years  thereafter  ;  and  the  said  districts  shall  be  so 
altered  by  the  legislature,  at  the  first  session  after  the  return 
of  every  enumeration,  that  each  senate  district  shall  contain, 
as  nearly  as  may  be,  an  iqual  number  of  inhabitants,  exclude 
ing  aliens,  paupers,  and  persons  of  color  not  taxed  ;  and  shall 
remain  unaltered,  until  the  return  of  another  enumeration, 
and  shall  at  all  times  consist  of  contiguous  territory  ;  and  no 
county  shall  be  divided  in  the  formation  of  a  senate  district. 

7.  The  members  of  the  assembly  shall  be  chosen  by  coun- 
ties, and  shall  be  apportioned  among  the  several  counties  of 
the  stale,  as  nearly  as  may  be,  according  to  the  number  of 
their  respective  inhabitants,  excluding  aliens,  paupers,  and 
persons  of  color,  not  taxed.  An  apportionment  of  members 
of  assembly  shall  be  made  by  tlie  legislature,  at  its  first  ses- 
sion after  the  return  of  every  enumeration;  and,  when  made, 
shall  remain  unaltered  until  another  enumeration  shall  have 
been  taken.  But  an  apportionment  of  members  of  the  as- 
sembly shall  be  made  by  the  present  legislature  according  to 
the  last  enumeration,  taken  under  the  authority  of  the  United 
States,  as  nearly  as  may  be.  Every  countv  heretofore  esta- 
blished, and  se])arately  organized,  shall  always  be  entitled 
to  one  member  of  the  assembly  ;  and  no  new  county  shall 
hereafter  be  erected,  unless  its  population  shall  entitle  it  to 
a  member. 

8.  Any  bill  may  originate  in  either  house  of  the  legisla- 


282  NEW    ENGLISH    REALER.  pART    III 

ture  ;  and  all  bills  passed  by  one  house,  may  be  amended  by 
the  other. 

9.  The  members  of  the  legislature  shall  receive  for  their 
services  a  coa»pen.saiion,  to  be  ascertained  by  law.  and  paid 
out  of  the  public  treasury  ;  but  no  increase  of  the  compensa- 
tion, shall  lake  eiTect  during  the  year  in  which  it  shall  have 
been  made.  And  no  law  shall  be  passed  increasing  the 
compensation  of  the  members  of  the  legislature,  beyond  the 
sum  of  three  dollars  a  day. 

10.  No  member  of  the  legislature  sliall  receive  any  civil 
appointment  from  the  governor  and  senate,  or  from  tht^  legis- 
lature, during  the  term  for  which  he  shall  have  been  elected. 

1 1.  No  person,  being  a  member  of  congress,  or  holding  any 
judicial  or  military  office  under  the  Uiiited  States,  shall  hold 
a  seat  in  the  legislature.  And  if  any  person  shall,  while  a 
member  of  the  legislature,  be  elected  to  congress,  or  appoint- 
ed to  any  olTice,  civil  or  military,  under  the  government  of 
the  United  States,  his  acceptance  thereof  shall  vacate  his  seal. 

12.  Every  bill  which  shall  have  passed  the  senate  and  as- 
semlily,  shall,  before  it  becomes  a  law,  be  presented  to  the 
guvernor :  ii'  he  approve,  he  shall  sign  it,  but  if  not,  he  shall 
return  it  with  his  objections  to  that  house  in  which  it  shall 
have  originated,  who  shall  enter  the  objections  at  large  on 
tiieir  journal,  and  proceed  to  reconsider  it:  if,  after  such  re- 
consideration, two  thirds  of  the  members  present  shall  agree 
to  pass  the  bill,  it  shall  be  sent,  together  with  the  objections, 
to  the  other  house,  by  which  it  shall  likewise  he  reconsider- 
ed ;  and  if  approved  by  two  thirds  of  the  members  present, 
it  shall  become  a  law  ;  hut  in  all  such  cases,  the  votes  of  both 
houses  shall  be  determined  by  yeas  and  nays,  and  ?he  names 
of  the  persons,  voting  for  and  against  the  hill  shall  be  enter- 
ed on  the  journals  of  each  house  respectively  :  if  any  bill 
shall  not  be  returned  by  the  governor  within  ten  days  (Sun- 
days excepted)  after  it  shall  have  been  presented  to  him,  the 
same  shall  he  a  law,  in  like  manner  as  if  he  had  signed  it, 
unless  the  legislature  shall,  by  their  adjournment,  prevent 
its  return;  in  wliich  case  it  shall  not  be  a  law. 

13.  All  officers,  holding  their  offices  during  good  behavior, 
may  be  removed  by  joint  resolution  of  the  two  houses  of  the 
legislature,  if  two  thirds  of  all  the  members  elected  to  the 
assembly,  and  a  majority  of  all  the  members  elected  to  the 
senate,  concur  therein. 

14.  The  political  year  shall  begin  on  the  first  day  of  Janu- 
ary ;  and  the  leiiisUiure  shall  every  year  asseml)le  ou  the 
first  Tuesdav  of  January,  unless  a  dillerent  day  shall  be  ap- 
pointed by  law. 


Chap.  IV.       •   constitution  of  nkw  york.  283 

15.  The  next  elcn-lion  for  rfovenior,  lieutenant  governor, 
sena'ors,  and  ineni])er-i  of  assembly,  shall  eonimence  on  the 
tirs(  Monday  ot"  November,  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
twenty  two;  and  all  subsequent  elections  shall  he  held  at 
such  time  in  the  month  of  October,  or  November,  as  the 
leai-h'ture  shall  by  law  provide. 

16.  The  governor,  lieutenant  governor,  senators,  and  niem- 
bers  of  assembly,  first  elected  under  this  constitution,  shall 
enter  on  the  duties  of  their  re-}X^ctive  oftices,  on  the  first  day  of 
J-rtt!UHry,one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  twenty- three ;  and 
the  ffovemor,  lieutenant  g(»vernor,  senators,  and  members  of 
as.vembly,  now  in  odice,  shall  continue  to  hold  the  same,  un- 
til the  first  day  of  January,  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
twenty -tliree.  and  no  longer. 


ARTICLE    II. 

Sfc.  1.  Every  male  citizen  of  the  age  of  twenty-one  years, 
wIjo  shall  have  been  an  inhal)itant  of  this  state,  one  year 
''prei'eding  any  election,  and  for  the  last  six  months  a  resident 
of  the  town  or  county  where  he  may  ofler  his  vote;  and  A\h\\ 
have,  within  the  year  next  preceding  the  election,  |>aid  a  tax 
to  the  state  or  county,  assessed  upon  his  real  or  per-onal 
properly;  or  shall  by  law  be  exenjpt  from  taxation;  or, 
being  armed  and  equipped  according  to  law,  shall  have  per- 
formtd  within  that  year,  military  duty  in  tlie  ujilitia  of  this 
state  ;  or  who  :<hail  he  exempted  from  performing  militia  duty 
in  consequence  of  being  a  fireman  in  any  city,  town,  or  vil- 
lage in  this  slate  :  And  al<-o  every  male  citizen  of  the  age  of 
twei.'ty-one  years,  who  shall  have  been,  for  three  years  next 
preceding  such  election,  an  inhabitai»t  of  this  state;  anti  for 
the  last  year,  a  resident  in  the  town  or  county  where  he  may 
oti'er  his  vote;  and  shall  have  been,  within  the  last  year  as- 
sessed to  labor  upon  the  public  highways,  and  shall  have 
performed  the  labor,  or  paid  an  eqtiivalent  tiierefor,  according 
to  law;  >hall  be  entitled  to  vote  in  the  town  or  ward  where 
he  actually  resides,  and  not  elsewhere,  for  all  officers  that 
now  are,  or  hereafter  may  be- elective  by  the  people  :  but  no 
man  of  color,  unless  he  shall  have  been  for  three  years  a 
citizen  of  this  state,  and  for  one  year  next  preceding  any  elec- 
tion, shall  be  seized  and  possessed  of  a  freehold  estate  of  the 
value  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollarH,  over  and  above  the 
debts  and  incumbrances  charged  thereon;  and  shall  have 
been  actually  rated,  and  paid  a  tax  thereon,  shall  be  entitled 
to  vole  at  any  such  election.  And  no  person  of  color  shall 
be  subject  to  direct  taxation,  utjless  he  shall  be  seized  and 
possessed  of  such  real  estate  as  aforesaid. 


2S4  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    III. 

•2.  Laws  may  he  passed,  excluding  from  the  right  of  suf- 
frage, persons  who  have  been,  or  may  be,  convicted  of  infa- 
mous crimes. 

3.  Laws  shall  be  made  for  ascertaining  ti^  proper  proofs, 
the  citizens  who  shall  be  entitled  to  the  right  of  sulfrage, 
hereby  established. 

4.  All  elections  by  the  citizens  shall  be  by  ballot,  except 
for  such  town  officers,  as  may  by  law  be  directed  to  be  other- 
wise chosen. 

ARTICLE    m. 

Sec.  1.  I'he  executive  power  shall  be  vested  in  a  governor. 
He  shall  hold  his  office  for  two  years  ;  and  a  lieutenant  go- 
vernor, shall  be  chosen  at  the  same  time,  and  for  the  same 
term. 

2.  No  person,  except  a  native  citizen  of  the  United  States, 
shall  be  eligible  to  theolficeof  Governor;  nor  shall  any  per- 

.  son  be  eligible  to  that  office,  who  sliall  not  be  a  freeholder, 
and  shall  not  have  attained  the  age  of  thirty  years',  and  have 
been  five  vears  a  resident  Avithin  this  state ;  unless  he  shall 
have  been  absent  during  that  time,  on  public  business  of  the 
United  States,  or  of  this  state. 

3.  The  governor  and  lieutenant  governor  shall  be  elected 
at  the  times  and  places  of  choosing  members  of  the  legisla- 
ture. The  persons  respectively  having  the  highest  number 
of  votes  for  governor  and  lieutenant  governor,  shall  be  elect- 
ed ;  but  in  case  two  or  more  ^hall  have  an  equal  and  the 
highest  number  of  votes  for  governor,  or  for  lieutenant  go- 
vernor, the  two  houses  of  the. legislature  shall,  by  joint  ballot, 
choose  one  of  the  said  persons  so  having  an  equal  and  the 
highest  number  of  votes,  for  governor  or  lieutenant  governor. 

4.  Tlie  governor  shall  be  general  and  commander  in  chief 
of  all  the  militia,  and  admiral  of  the  navy  of  the  state.  He 
shall  have  pov*^er  to  convene  the  legislature,  (or  the  senate 
only,)  on  extraordinary  occasions.  He  shall  communicate, 
by  message  to  the  legislature  at  every  session,  the  condition 
of  the  state;  and  recommend  such  matters  to  them  as  he 
shall  judge  expedient.  He  shall  transact  all  necessary  busi- 
ness with  the  officers  of  government,  civil  and  military.  He 
shall  expedite  all  such  measures  as  he  maybe  resolved  upon  by 
the  legislature,  and  shall  take  care  that  the  laws  are  faithfully 
executed.  He  shall,  at  stated  times,  receive  for  his  services 
a  compensation,  which  shall  neither  be  increased  nor  dimi- 
nished during  the  term  for  which  he  shall  have  been  elected. 

5.  The  governor  shall  have  power  to  grant  reprieves  and 
pardons  after  conviction,  for  all  offenses,  except  treason  and 


Chap.  IV.         coNSTiruTroN  of  new  york.  285 

cases  of  impeachment.  Upon  convictions  for  treason,  he 
shall  have  power  to  suspend  the  execution  of  the  sentence, 
until  the  case  shall  be  reported  to  the  legislature  at  its  next 
meeting;  wlien  the  le<:^islature  shall  eitlier  pardon,  or  direct 
the  execution  of  the  criminal,  or  grant  a  farther  reprieve. 

6.  In  case  of  the  impeachment  of  the  governor,  or  his  re- 
moval from  office,  death,  resig^nation,  or  absence  from  the 
state,  the  powers  and  duties  of  the  office  shall  devolve  upon 
the  lieutenant  governor,  for  the  residue  of  the  term,  or  until 
the  governor  absent  or  impeached,  shall  return  or  be  acquit- 
ted. But  when  the  governor  shall,  with  the  consent  of  the  - 
legislature,  be  out  of  the  state  in  thne  of  war,  at  the  head  of 

a  military  force  thereof,  he  shall  still  continue  commander 
in  chief  of  all  the  military  force  of  the  state. 

7.  The  lieutenant  governor  shall  be  president  of  the  senate, 
but  shall  have  only  a  casting  vote  therein.  If,  during  a  va- 
cancy of  the  office  of  governor,  the  lieutenant  governor  shall 
be  impeached,  displaced,  resign,  die,  or  be  absent  from  the 
state,  the  president  of  the  senate  shall  act  as  governor,  until  ♦ 
the  vacancy  shall  be  filled,  or  the  dissability  shall  cease. 

ARTICLE   IV. 

Sec.  1.  Militia  officers  shall  be  chosen,  or  appointed,  as  fol- 
lows: captains,  subalterns,  and  non-commissioned  officers, 
shall  be  chosen  by  the  written  votes  of  the  members  of  their 
respective  companies.  Field  officers  of  regiments,  and  se- 
parate battalions,  by  the  written  votes  of  the  commissioned 
officers  of  the  respective  regiments,  and  separate  battalions. 
Brigadier  generals,  by  the  field  officers  of  their  respective 
brigades.  Major  generals,  brigadier  generals,  and  command- 
ing officers  of  regiments  or  separate  battalions,  shall  appoint 
the  staff  officers  of  their  respective  divisions,  brigades,  regi- 
ments, or  separate  battalions. 

2.  The  governor  shall  nominate,  and,  with  the  consent  of 
the  senate,  appoint  all  major  generals,  brigade  inspectors, 
and  chiefs  in  the  stall  departments,  except  the  adjutants  ge- 
neral and  commissary  general.  The  adjutant  general  shall 
be  appointed  by  the  governor.* 

3.  The  legislature  shall,  by  law,  direct  the  time  and  man- 
ner of  electing  militia  officers,  and  of  certifying  their  elec- 
tions to  the  governor. 

4.  The  commissioned. officers  of  the  militia  shall  be  com- 
missioned by  the  governor ;  and  no  commissioned  officer  shall 
be  removed  from  office,  unless  by  the  senate,  on  the  recom- 
mendation of  the  governor,  stating  the  grounds  on  which  .such 


286  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaH  i    Hi. 

removal  is  rccoinmended,  or  by  the  derision  of  a  court  mar- 
tial, pursuant  to  law.  The  present  officers  of  the  miiiiia 
shall  hold  their  coinniissions,  subject  lo  removal  as  heiore 
provided. 

5.  In  case  the  mode  of  election  and  appointment  of  militia 
officers  hereby  directed,  shall  not  be  found  condui-ive  to  the 
improvement  of  the  militia,  the  le.aislature  mav  aboli.-h  the 
san)e,  and  provide  by  law  for  their  afipointnjent  and  remt/val 
if  two  thirds  of  the  members  present  in  each  house  shall  con- 
cur t^ierein. 

C.  The  secretary  of  state,  controller,  trea'^urer,  attorn«*y 
general,  surveyor  general,  and  commissary  general,  shall  l)e 
appointed  as  follows: — The  senate  and  assembly  shall  ea«'h 
0[ienly  nominate  one  person  for  the  said  offices  re^^pectively : 
after  which,  they  shall  meet  toi^ether,  and  if  they  shall  agree 
in  their  nominations,  the  person  so  nominated  shall  he  ap- 
pointed to  the  office  for  which  he  shall  be  nominated.  If  they 
shall  disa<Tree,  the  appointment  shall  be  made  by  llie  joint 
'ballot  of  the  senators  and  members  of  assembly.  The  trea- 
surer shall  be  chosen  annually.  The  secretary  of  state, 
controller,  attorney  cjeneral,  surveyor  s^eneral.  and  commis- 
sary freneral,  shall  hold  their  offices  for  three  years,  unless 
sooner  removed  by  concurrent  resolution  of  the  senate  and 
assembly. 

7.  The  governor  shall  nominate,  by  mes'^age,  in  writinir, 
and,  with  the  consent  of  the  senate,  shall  afjpoint  all  judicial 
officers,  except  justices  of  the  peace,  who  shall  he  appointed 
in  manner  followins:,  that  is  to  say:  the  board  of  supervi>ors 
in  ^»very  county  in  this  state,  shall,  at  such  times  as  the  legis- 
lature may  direct,  meet  together :  and,  they  or  a  majority  of 
them  so  assembled,  shall  nominate  so  many  j)ersons  as  sliall 
be  equal  to  the  number  of  justices  of  the  peace,  to  be  appoint- 
ed in  the  several  towns  in  the  respective  counties.  And  the 
judges  of  the  respective  county  coijrts,  or  a  majority  of  them 
shall  also  meet  and  nominate  a  like  number  of  persons  :  and 
it  shall  be  the  duty  of  the  said  board  of  supervisors,  and 
jfudges  of  county  courts,  to  compare  such  nominations,  at 
such  time  and  place,  as  the  legislature  may  direct;  and  if, 
on  stich  comparison,  the  said  boards  of  supervisors  and  jndgi-s 
of  county  courts,  shall  agree  in  their  nominations;  in  all  or 
in  part,  they  shall  lile  a  certificate  of  the  nominations  in  which 
they  shall  agree,  in  the  offi<?e  of  the  clerk  of  the  county  :  and 
the  person  or  persons  named  in  such  certificates,  shall  be 
justices  of  the  peace  ;  and  incase  of  disagreement  in  whole. 
or  in  part,  it  shall  be  the  farther  duty  of  the  said  boards  of 
supervisors  and  jijdges,  respectively,  to  transmit  their  said 


Chap.  IV.  conshtution  of  new  york.  287 

nominations,  so  fur  as  ihey  disagree  in  the  same,  to  the  go- 
vernor, who  shall  select  irom  the  said  nominations,  and  ap- 
point so  many  justices  of  the  peace,  as  shall  be  requisite  to 
(111  the  vacancies.  Every  person  appointed  a  justice  of  the 
peace,  shall  hold  his  office  for  four  years,  unless  removed  by 
the  county  court,  for  causes  particularly  assigned  by  the 
judges  of  the  said  court.  And  no  justice  of  the  peace  shall 
be  removed,  until  he  shall  have  notice  of  the  charges  made 
a£:ainst  him,  and  an  opportunity  of  being  heard  in  his  de- 
fense. 

8.  Sheriffs,  and  clerks  of  counties,  including  the  register, 
and  clerk  of  the  city  and  county  of  New  York,  shall  be  cho- 
sen by  the  electors  of  the  respective  counties,  once  in  every 
ihrne  ye:irs,  and  as  oftenas  vacancies  shall  happen.  Sheriffs 
shall  hold  no  orher  office,  and  be  inelisfible  for  the  next  three 
years  after  the  lernjination  of  their  offices.  Tliey  may  be 
required  by  law  to  renew  their  security,  from  time  to  time: 
and  in  default  of  giving  such  new  security,  their  offices  shall 
be  deemed  vacant.  But  tiie  county  shall  never  be  made  re- 
sponsible for  the  acts  of  the  sheriif.  Andthe  governor  may 
remove  any  such  sheriif,  clerk,  or  register,  at  any  time  within 
the  three  years  for  which  he  shall  be  elected,  giving  to  such 
sheriff,  clerk,  or  register  a  copy  of  the  charge  against  him, 
and  an  opportunity  of  being  heard  in  his  defense,  before  anv 
removal  shall  be  made. 

9.  The  clerks  of  courts,  except  those  clerks  whose  ap 
pointrnent  is  provided  for  in  the  preceding  section,  shall  be 
appointi'd  by  the  coiirtsof  which  tliey  respectively  are  clerks; 
and  district  attorneys,  by  thf3  county  courts.  Clerks  of 
courts,  and  district  attorneys,  shall  hold  their  offices  for  three 
years,  unless  sooner  removed  by  the  courts  a})pointing  them. 

10.  The  mayors  of  all  the  cities  in  this  state  shall  be  ap- 
pointed annually  by  the  common  councils  of  their  respective 
cities. 

11.  So  many  coroners  as  the  legislature  may  direct,  not 
exceeding  four  in  each  county,  shall  be  elected  in  the  same 
manner  as  sheriffs,  and  shall  hold  their  offices  for  the  samt# 
term,  and  be  removable  in  like  manner. 

12.  The  governor  shall  nominate,  and,  with  the  consent  o) 
the  senate,  appoint  masters  and  examiners  in  chancery  ;  who 
shall  hold  their  offices  for  three  years,  unless  sooner  remov- 
ed by  the  senate,  on  the  recommendation  of  the  governor. 
The  registers,  and  assistant  registers,  shall  be  appointed  by 
the  chancellor,  and  hold  their  offices  during  his  pleasure. 

13  The  clerk  of  the  court  of  oyer  and  terminer,  and  ge- 
neral sessions  of  the  peace,  in  and  for  the  city  and  county  of 


28S  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT  KI. 

New  York,  shall  be  appointed  by  the  court  of  jrencral  ses- 
sions of  the  peace  in  said  city,  and  hold  his  office  during  "he 
pleasure  of  said  court ;  and  such  cloiks  and  other  offices  of 
courts,  whose  appointment  is  not  herein  provided  for,  shall 
be  appointed  by  the  several  courts  ;  or  by  the  governor,  with 
the  consent  of  the  senate,  as  may  be  directed  by  law. 

14.  The  special  justices,  and  the  assistant  justices,  and 
their  clerks,  in  the  city  of  New  York,  shall  be  appointed  by 
the  common  council  of  the  said  city  ;  and  shall  hold  their 
offices  for  the  same  term  that  the  justices  of  the  peace,  in  the 
other  counties  of  this  state,  hold  their  offices,  and  shall  be 
removable  in  like  manner. 

15.  All  officers  heretofore  elective  by  the  people  shall 
continue  to  be  elected;  and  all  other  officers,  whose  appoint- 
ment is  not  provided  for  by  this  constitution,  and  all  officers, 
whose  offices  may  be  hereafter  created  by  law,  shall  be 
elected  by  the  people,  or  appointed,  as  may  by  law  be 
directed. 

16.  Where  the  duration  of  any  office  is  not  prescribed  by 
this  constitution,  it  may  be  declared  by  law;  and  if  not  so 
declared,  such  office  shall  be  held  during  the  pleasure  of  the 
authority  making  the  appointment. 

ARTICLE    V. 

Sec.  1.  The  court  for  the  trial  of  impeachments,  and  the 
correction  of  errors,  shall  consist  of  the  president  of  the  se- 
nate, the  senators,  the  chancellor,  and  the  justices  of  the 
su})reme  court^  or  the  major  part  of  them:  but  when  an  im- 
peachment shall  be  prosecuted  against  the  chancellor,  or  any 
justice  of  the  supreme  court,  the  person  so  impeached  shall 
be  suspended  from  exercising  his  office,  until  his  acquittal ; 
and  when  an  appeal  from  a  decree  in  chancery  shall  be 
heard  ;  the  chancellor  shall  inform  the  court  of  the  reasons 
for  his  decree,  but  shall  have  no  voice  in  the  final  sentence  ; 
and  when  a  writ  of  error  shall  be  brought,  on  a  judgment  ot 
the  supreme  coiirt,  the  justices  of  that  court  shall  assign  the 
reasons  for  their  judgment,  but  shall  not  have  a  voice  for  its 
affirmance  or  reversal. 

2.  The  assembly  shall  have  the  power  of  impeaching  all 
civil  officers  of  this  state  for  male  and  corrupt  conduct  in 
office,  and  for  high  crimes  and  misdemeanors  ;  but  a  majority 
of  all  the  members  elected  shall  concur  in  an  impeachment. 
Before  the  trial  of  an  impeachment,  the  members  of  the  court 
shall  take  an  oath  or  affirmation,  truly  and  impartially  to  tr-y 
•  and  determine  the  charge  in  question,  according  to  evidence; 
and  no  person  shall  be  convicted,  v^ithout  the  concurrence 


Chap.  IV.  constitution  op  new  york.  2S9 

of  two  thirds  of  the  members  present.  Judgment,  in  cases 
of  impeachment,  shall  not  extend  farther  than  the  removal 
from  olfice,  and  disqualification  to  hold  and  enjoy  any  office, 
of  honor,  trust,  or  profit,  under  this  state ;  but  the  party  con- 
victed shall  be  liable  to  indictment  and  punishment,  accord- 
ing to  law. 

3.  The  chancellor,  and  justices  of  the  supreme  court,  shall 
hold  their  oflices  during  good  behavior,  or  until  they  shall 
attain  the  age  of  sixty  years. 

4.  The  supreme  court  shall  consist  of  a  chief  justice  and 
two  justices,  any  of  whom  may  hold  the  court. 

'5.  The  state  shall  be  divided,  by  law,  into  a  convenient 
number  of  circuits,  not  less  than  four,  nor  exceeding  eight, 
subject  to  alteration  by  the  legislature,  from  time  to  time,  as 
the  public  good  may  require  ;  for  each  of  which,  a  circuit 
judge  shall  be  appointed^  in  the  same  manner,  and  hold  his 
office  by  the  same  tenure,  as  the  justices  of  the  supreme 
court ;  and  who  shall  possess  the  powers  of  a  justice  of  the 
supreme  court  at  chambers,  and  in  the  trial  of  issues  joined 
in  the  supreme  court,  and  in  courts  of  oyer  and  terminer 
and  jail  delivery.  And  such  equity  powers  may  be  vested  in 
the  said  circuit  judges,  or  in  the  county  courts,  or  in  such 
other  subordinate  courts,  as  the  legislature  may  by  law  di- 
rect, subject  to  the  appellate  jurisdiction  of  the  chancellor. 

6.  Judges  of  the  county  courts,-  and  recorders  of  cities, 
shall  hold  their  offices  for  five  years,  but  may  be  removed  by 
the  senate,  on  the  recommendation  of  the  governor,  for 
causes  to  be  stated  in  such  recommendation. 

7.  Neither  the  chancellor,  nor  justices  of  the  supreme 
court,  nor  any  circuit  judge,  sl^ali  hold  any  other  office  or 
public  trust.  All  votes  for  any  elective  office,  given  by  the 
legislature  or  the  people,  for  the  chancellor,  or  a  justice  Ox 
the  supreme  court,  or  circuit  judge,  during  his  continuance 
in  his  judicial  office,  shall  be  void. 

ARTICLE    VI. 

Sec.  1.  Members  of  the  legislature,  and  all  officers,  execu- 
tive and  judicial,  except  such  inferior  officers  as  may  by  law 
be  exempted,  shall,  before  they  enter  on  the  duties  of  their 
res])ective  offices,  take  and  subscribe  the  following  oath  or 
affirmation : 

I  do  solemnly  swear,  (or  affirm,  as  the  case  may  be,)  that 
I  will  support  the  constitution  of  the  United   States,  and 
the  constitution  of  the  state  of  New  York;  and  that  I  will 
faithfully  discharge  the  duties  of  the  office  of 
according  to  the  best  of  my  ability. 
19 


290  NEW    ENGLISH    READER.  PaRT    III 

And  no  other  oath,  declaration,  or  test,  shall  be  required 
as  a  qualification  for  any  office  or  public  trust. 

ARTICLE  vn. 

Sec.  1.  No  member  of  this  state  shall  be  disfranchised,  or 
deprived  of  any  of  the  rights  or  privileges  secured  to  any 
citizen  thereof,  unless  by  the  law  of  the  land,  or  the  judg- 
ment of  his  peers. 

2.  The  trial  hy  jury,  in  all  cases  in  which  it  has  been  here- 
tofore used,  shall  remain  inviolate  forever  ;  and  no  new  court 
shall  be  instituted,  but  such  as  shall  proceed  according  to  the 
course  of  the  common  law;  except  such  courts  of  equity,  as 
the  legislature  is  herein  authorised  to  establish. 

3.  The  free  exercise  and  enjoyment  of  religious  profes- 
sion and  worship,  without  discrimination  or  preference,  shall 
forever  be  allowed  in  this  state,  to  all  mankind  ;  but  the  liber- 
ty of  conscience  hereby  secured,  shall  not  be  so  construed  as 
to  excuse  acts  of  licentiousness,  or  justify  practices  incon- 
sistent with  the  peace  or  safety  of  this  state. 

4.  A7id  whereas  the  ministers  of  the  gospel  are,  by  their 
profession,  dedicated  to  the  service  of  God,  and  the  care  of 
souls,  and  ought  not  to  be  diverted  from  the  great  duties  of 
their  functions;  therefore,  no  minister  of  the  gospel,  or  priest 
of  any  denomination  whatsoever,  shall,  at  any  time  hereafter, 
under  any  pretense  or  description  whatever,  be  eligible  to,  or 
capable  of  holding,  any  civil  or  military  office  or  place  witii- 
in  this  state. 

5.  The  militia  of  this  state  shall,  at  all  times  hereafter  be 
armed  and  disciplined,  and  in  readiness  for  service  ;  but  all 
such  inhabitants  of  this  state*  of  any  religious  denomination 
whatever,  as  from  scruples  of  conscience,  may  be  averse  to 
bearing  arms,  shall  be  excused  therefrom,  by  paying  to  the 
state  an  equivalent  in  money  ;  and  the  legislature  shall  pro- 
vide by  law,  for  the  collection  of  such  equivalent,  to  be  esti- 
mated according  to  the  expense,  in  time  and  money,  of  an 
ordinary  able  bodied  militia  man. 

6.  The  privilege  of  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus,  shall  nc< 
be  suspended,  unless  when  in  cases  of  rebellion,  or  invasion, 
the  public  safety  may  require  its  suspension. 

7.  No  person  shall  be  held  to  answer  for  a  capital,  or 
other  infamous  crime,  (except  in  cases  of  impeachmenr, 
and  in  cases  of  the  militia  when  in  actual  service ;  and  the 
land  and  naval  forces  in  time  of  war,  or  which  this  state 
may  keep,  with  the  consent  of  Congress,  in  time  of  peace, 
and  in  cases  of  petit  larceny,  under  the  regulation  of  the  le- 
gislature ;)  unless  on  presentment  or  indictment  of  a  grand 


Chap.  VI.         constitttion  op  new  york.  291 


jury;  and  in  every  trial  on  impeachment  and  indictment,  the 
parly  accused  shall  be  allowed  counsel  as  in  civil  actions. 
No  person  shall  be  subject  for  the  same  offense,  to  be  twice 
put  in  jeopardy  of  life  or  limb;  nor  shall  he  be  compelled  in 
any  criminal  case,  to  he  a  witness  against  himself;  nor  be 
deprived  of  life,  liberty,  or  property,  without  due  process  of 
law  ;  nor  shall  private  property  be  taken  for  public  use,  with- 
out just  compensation. 

8.  Every  citizen  may  freely  speak,  write,  and  publish  his 
sentiments,  on  all  subjects,  being  responsible  for  the  abuse 
of  that  right;  and  no  law  shall  be  passed  to  restrain,  or 
abridge,  the  liberty  of  speech,  or  of  the  press.  In  all  prose- 
cutions or  indictments  for  libels,  the  truth  may  be  given  in 
evidence  to  the  jury;  and  if  it  shall  appear  to  the  jury,  that 
the  matter  charged  as  libelous,  is  true,  and  was  published 
with  good  motives,  and  for  justifiable  ends,  the  party  shall 
be  acquitted ;  and  the  jury  shall  have  the  right  to  determine 
the  law  and  the  fact. 

9.  The  assent  of  two  thirds  of  the  members  elected  to 
each  branch  of  the  legislature,  shall  be  requisite  to  every 
bill  appropriating  the  public  moneys  or  property  for  local  or 
private  purposes,  or  creating,  continuing,  altering,  or  renew- 
ing, any  body  politic  or  corporate. 

10.  The  proceeds  of  all  lands  belonging  to  this  state,  ex- 
cept such  parts  thereof  as  may  be  reserved  or  appropriated  to 
public  use,  or  ceded  to  the  United  States,  w^hich  shall  hereaf- 
ter be  sold  or  disposed  of,  together  with  the  fund  denominated 
the  common  school  fund,  shall  be  and  remain  a  perpetual 
fund  ;  the  interest  of  which  shall  be  inviolably  appropriated 
and  applied  to  the  support  of  common  schools  throughout 
this  state.  Rates  of  toll,  not  less  than  those  agreed  to  by 
the  canal  commissioners,  and  set  forth  in  their  report  to  the 
legislature  of  the  twelfth  of  March,  one  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred and  twenty  one,  shall  be  imposed  on,  and  collected  from, 
all  parts  of  the  navigable  communication  between  the  great 
western  and  northern  lakes  and  the  Atlantic  ocean,  which 
now  are  or  hereafter  shall  be  made  and  completed :  and  the 
said  tolls,  together  with  the  duties  on  the  manufacture  of  all 
salt,  as  established  by  the  act  of  the  fifteenth  of  April,  one 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  seventeen;  and  the  duties  on 
goods  sold  at  auction,  excepting:  therefrom  the  sum  of  thirty 
three  thousand  five  hundred  dollars,  otherwise  appropriated 
by  the  said  act ;  and  the  amount  of  the  revenue  established 
by  the  act  of  the  legislature  of  the  thirtieth  of  March,  one 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  twenty,  in  lieu  of  the  tax  upon 
steam  boat  psssengers  ;  shall  be,  and  remain  inviolably  ap- 


892  NEW    ENGLISH   READER.  pART   III. 

propriatecl  and  applied  to  the  completion  of  such  navigable 
commimications,  and  to  the  payment  of  the  interest,  and 
reimbursement  of  the  capital,  of  the  money  already  borrowed, 
on  which  hereafter  shall  be  borrowed,  to  make  and  complete 
the  same.  And  neither  the  rates  of  toll  on  the  said  naviga- 
ble communications  ;  nor  the  duties  on  the  manufacture  of 
salt  aforesaid;  nor  the  duties  on  goods  sold  at  auction,  as 
established  by  the  act  of  the  fifteenth  of  April,  one  thou- 
sand 'eight  hundred  and  seventeen,  nor  the  amount  of  the 
revenue  established  by  the  act  of  March  the  thirtieth,  one 
thousand  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty,  in  lieu  of  the  tax 
upon  steam  boat  passengers  ;  shall  be  reduced  or  diverted, 
at  any  time  before  the  full  and  complete  payment  of  the 
principal  and  interest  of  the  money  borrowed,  or  to  be  bor- 
rov/ed,  as  aforesaid.  And  the  legislature  shall  never  sell, 
or  dispose  of  the  salt  springs  belonging  to  this  state,  nor  the 
lands  contiguously  thereto,  which  may  be  necessary  or  con- 
venient for  their  use,  nor  the  said  navigable  communications, 
or  any  part  or  section  thereof;  but  the  same  shall  be  and 
•remain  the  property  of  this  state. 

11.  No  lottery  shall  hereafter  be  authorized  in  this  state; 
and  the  legislature  shall  pass  laws  to  prevent  the  sale  of  all 
lottery  tickets  within  this  state,  except  in  lotteries  already 
provided  for  by  law. 

12.  No  purchase  or  contract  for  the  sale  of  lands  in  this* 
state,  made  since  the  fourteenth  day  of  October,  one  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  seventy  five,  or  which  may  hereafter  be 
made,  of  or  with  the  Indians  in  this  state,  shall  be  valid, 
unless  made  under  the  authority  and  with  the  consent  of  the 
legislature. 

13.  Such  parts  of  the  common  law,  and  of  the  acts  of  the 
legislature  of  the  colony  of  New  York,  as  together  did  form 
the  law  of  the  said  colony  on  the  nineteenth  day  of  April, 
one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  seventy  five,  and  the  reso- 
lutions of  the  congress  of  the  said  colony,  and  of  the  con- 
vention of  the  state  of  New  York,  in  force  on  the  twentieth 
day  of  April,  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  seventy  seven, 
which  have  not  since  expired,  or  been  repealed,  or  altered; 
and  such  acts  of  the  legislature  of  this  state,  as  are  now  in 
force,  shall  be  and  continue  the  law  of  this  state,  subject  to 
such  alterations  as  the  legislature  shall  make  concerning  the 
same.  But  all  such  parts  of  the  common  law,  and  such  of 
the  said  acts,  or  parts  thereof,  as  are  repugnant  to  this  coa- 
fititution,  are  hereby  abrogated. 

<*^^  All  sfrants  of  land  within  this  state  made  by  the  king 
r\  Ureal  Britain,  or  persons  acting  under  his  authority,  after 


Chap.  IV.  constitution  of  new  york.  293 

the  fourteenth  day  of  October,  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  seventy -five,  shall  be  null  and  void  :  but  nothing  contain- 
ed in  this  constitution,  shall  affect  any  grants  of  land  within 
this  state,  made  by  the  authority  of  the  said  king  or  his  pre- 
decessors, or  shall  annul  any  charters  to  bodies  politic  and 
corporate,  by  him  or  them  made,  before  that  day  ;  or  shall 
allect  any  such  grants  or  charters  since  made  by  this  state, 
or  by  persons  acting  under  its  authority  ;  or  shall  impair  the 
obligation  of  any  debts  contracted  by  the  state,  or  individu- 
als, or  bodies  corporate,  or  any  other  rights  of  property,  or 
any  suits,  actions,  rights  of  actions,  or  other  proceedings  in 
courts  of  justice, 

ARTICLE    VIII. 

Sec,  1.  Any  amendment,  or  amendments,  to  this  constitu- 
tion, may  be  proposed  in  the  senate  or  assembly,  and  if  the 
same  shall  be  agreed  to  by  a  majority  of  the  members  elected 
to  each  of  the  two  houses,  such  proposed  amendment,  or 
amendments,  shall  be  entered  on  their  journals,  with  the  yeas 
and  nays  taken  thereon,  and  referred  to  the  legislature  then 
next  to' be  chosen;  and  shall  be  published,  for  three  months 
previous  to  the  time  of  making  such  choice;  and,  if  in  the  le- 
gislature next  chosen  as  aforesaid,  such  proposed  amendment, 
or  amendments,  shall  be  agreed  to  by  two  thirds  of  all  the 
members  elected  to  each  house,  then  it  shall  be  the  duty  of 
the  legislature  to  submit  such  proposed  amendment,  or 
amendments,  to  the  people,  in  such  manner,  and  at  such  time, 
as  the  legislature  shall  prescribe  ;  and  if  the  people  su:M  ap- 
prove and  ratify  such  amendment,  or  amendments,  by  a 
majority  of  the  electors  qualified  to  vote  for  members  of  the^ 
legi>:lature,  voting  thereon,  such  amendment  or  amendments 
shall  become  part  of  the  constitution. 

ARTICLE    IX. 

Sec.  1.  This  constitution  shall  be  in  force  from  the  .a$' 
day  of  December,  in  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred 
and  twenty-tw^o.  But  all  those  parts  of  the  same,  which 
relate  to  the  right  of  suffrage ;  the  division  of  the  state  into 
senate  districts  ;  the  number  of  members  of  the  assembly  to 
be  elected  in  pursuance  of  this  constitution  ;  the  apportion- 
ment of  members  of  assembly  ;  the  elections  hereby  directed 
to  commence  on  the  first  Monday  of  November,  in  the  year 
one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  twenty -two;  the  continu- 
ance of  the  members  of  the  present  legislature  in  office, 
until  the  first  day  of  January,  in  the  year  one  thousand  eight 


i 


294  NEW  ENGLISH    READER.  pART   III 

hundred  and  twenty-three;  and  the  prohibition  against  au- 
thorizing lotteries  5  the  prohibition  against  appropriating  the 
public  moneys  or  property  for  local  or  private  purposes,  or 
creating,  continuing,  altering,  or  renewing,  any  body  politic, 
or  corporate,  without  the  assent  of  two  thirds  of  the  mem- 
bers elected  to  each  branch  of  the  legislature,  shall  be  in 
force,  and  take  effect  from  the  last  day  of  February  next. 
The  members  of  the  present  legislature,  shall,  on  the  first 
Monday  of  March  next,  take  and  subscribe  an  oath,  or  affir- 
mation, to  support  the  constitution,  so  far  as  the  same  shall 
then  be  in  force.  Sheriffs,  clerks  of  counties,  and  coroners, 
shall  be  elected  at  the  election  hereby  directed  to  commence 
on  the  first  Monday  of  November,  in  the  year  one  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  twenty-two ;  but  they  shall  not  enter  on 
the  duties  of  their  offices  before  the  first  day  of  January  then 
next  following.  The  commissions  of  all  persons  holding 
civil  offices  on  the  last  day  of  December,  one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  twenty-two,  shall  expire  on  that  day  ;  but  the 
officers  then  in  commission,  may  respectively  continue  to 
hold  their  said  offices  until  new  appointments  or  elections 
shall  take  place  under  this  constitution. 

2.  The  existing  laws,  relative  to  tiie  manner  of  notifying, 
holding,  and  conducting  elections,  making  returns,  and  can- 
vassing votes,  shall  be  in  force,  and  ob.served,  in  respect  to 
the  elections  hereby  directed  to  commence  on  the  first  Mon- 
day of  November,  in  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred 
and  twenty-two,  so  far  as  the  same  are  appli<Mble.  And  the' 
presen*^  legislature  shall  pass  such  other  and  further  laws,  as 
may  be  requisite  for  the  execution  of  the  provisions  of  this 
constitution,  in  respect  to  elections. 
Done  in  Convention,  at  the  Capitol,  in  the  city  of  Albany, 

the  tenth  day  of  November,  in  the  year  one  thousand  eight 

Hundred  and  twenty-one,  and  of  the  independence  of  the 

CJaited  States  of  America,  the  fortv-sixth. 

DANIEL  D.  TOMPKINS, 

President 


Chap.  IV.  constitution  of  new  york.  295 

AMENDMENTS. 

[Adopted  in  1826.] 

First:  That  the  people  io  this  state,  in  their  several 
towns,  shall,  at  their  annual  election,  and  in  such  manner  as 
the  legislature  shall  direct,  elect  by  ballot  their  justices  of 
the  peace  ;  and  the  justices  so  elected  in  any  town  shall  im- 
mediately thereafter  meet  together,  and  in  presence  of  the 
supervisor  and  town  clerk  of  the  said  town,  be  divided  by 
lot  into  four  classes,  of  one  in  each  class,  and  be  numbered 
one,  two,  three,  and  four;  and  the  office  of  number  one  shall 
expire  at  the  end  of  the  first  year,  of  number  two  at  the  end 
of  the  second  year,  of  number  three  at  the  end  of  the  third 
year,  and  of  number  four  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  year,  in 
order  that  one  justice  may  thereafter  be  annually  elected  ; 
and  that  so  much  of  the  seventh  section  of  the  fourth  article 
of  the  constitution  of  this  state  as  is  inconsistent  with  this 
amendment,  be  abrogated. 

Second:  That  so  much  of  the  first  section  of  the  second 
article  of  the  constitution  as  prescribes  the  qualification  of 
voters,  other  than  persons  of  color,  be  and  the  same  is  here- 
by abolished,  and  that  the  following  be  substituted  in  the 
place  thereof: 

Every  male  citizen  of  the  age  of  twenty-one  years,  w^ho 
shall  have  been  an  inhabitant  of  this  state  one  year  next 
preceding  any  election,  and  for  the  last  six  months  a  resident 
of  the  county  where  he  may  offer  his  vote,  shall  be  entitled 
to  vote  in  the  town  or  ward  where  he  actually  resides,  and 
not  elsewhere,  for  ail  officers  that  now  are,  or  hereafter  may 
be  elective  by  the  people. 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS* 


PART  I, 

PIECES  IN  PROSE. 

CPLVPTER  I. 

[The  names  of  American  Authors  are  in  small  capitals. 1 

Pare 

Select  Sentences,     --------  17 

CHAPTER  II. 

NARRATIVE    PIECES. 

Catharina,  Empress  of  Russia,  -        «        -         Goldsmith  22 

Execution  of  Cranmer,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  Hume  25 

The  Voyage  of  Life  : — An  Allegory,         -        -     Dr.  Johnson  27 
Death  of  Socrates,        --------31 

Account  of  William  Penn's  Treaty  with  the  Indians, 

Edinburgh  Review  34 

Religion  and  Superstition  contrasted,         -        .        -      Carter  36 

CHAPTER  HI. 

DIDACTIC    PIECES. 

On  the  pleasure  of  acquiring  knowledge,  -        -        •      Alison  40 

On  the  uses  of  knowledge,  -         ••         -         -         '      do.  42 

Integrity  the  guide  of  life,       -         -    ♦»  -         -         "         Blair  45 

The  happiness  of  animals  a  proof  of  divine  benevolence,  Palci/  46 

The  Seasons, Monthly  Anthology  49 

On  the  Swiftness  of  Time,  -         -         -  J)r.  Johrison  51 

The  unhapphiess  of  unrestrained  passions,         -         -         Blair  53 

Of  curiosity  concerning  the  affairs  of  others,         -         -       do.  54 

The  miseries  of  Meni  mostly  of  their  own  procuring,  do.  67 

The  Creator's  works  attest  his  greatness,     -         -         '       do.  59 

Th£!  advantages  of  a  taste  for  Natural  History,  -  Wood  ib. 

Necessity  of  Industry,  even  to  Genius,         -         -  Ktiox  61 

Religion  the  only  basis  of  Society,  -         •.  Channing  62 

On  the  reasonableness  ^f  Devotion,     -       Jftf^beL     '      Blair  64 


CHAPTER  IV.« 

DESCRIPTIVE    PIECES. 

Character  of  Washington,  -----     Ames  66 

The  Grave  of  Jefferson,         -        .        -        -        -        Anon.  69 

The  last  days  of  Herculancum,  -----  70 

Passage  of  the  Potomac  and  Shenandoah  rivers  through   the 

Blue  Ridge,       -         -         -         -         -         -      Jefferson  71 

The  Egyptian  l*yramids,        ------  72 

Of  the  Forum  and  other  public  buildings  at  Rome,         Eustace  74 

Description  of  .^Elna,        -----  Brydooit  77 

297 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  V. 

Pathetic  pieces. 

Page 
The  Widow  and  her  Son,         -----      Irving     82 

The  Blind  Preacher, Wirt     88 

The  Head  Stone,    -------      Wilson     91 

CHAPTER  VI. 

DIALOGUES. 

The  Sultan  and  Mr.  Howard,  the  Philanthropist,  Mrs.  Ivchhald  95 
Cadmus  and  Hercules,       -----  LyttelUm     97 

Lord  Bacon  and  Shakspeare,  -         Blackwood's  Magazine  100 

CHAPTER  VH. 

PUBLIC    SPEECHES. 

The  nature  of  trne  Eloquence,    -         -         -         -      Webster   104 

The  perfect  Orator,         ------    Sheridan    ih. 

Paneiryric  on  the  Eloquence  of  Mr.  Sheridan,  -  -  Burke  105 
Extract  from  Mr.  Pitt's  Speech  in  Parliament,  -  Fifi  106 

Extract  from  Patrick  Henry's  Speech  before  a  Convention  of 

Delegates,  in  Virghiia,  1775,  -  -  -  -  Wirt  107 
Extract  from  an  Euloory  on  Jefferson  ai.d  Adams,  delivered  in 

Bo.ston,  1826,       ^'-         -•       -         -         -  WV.bster   110 

Extract  from  a  Speech  of  Mr.  Phillips,  in  Ireland,  on  a  certain 

occasion,         -         -         -         -         -         -         -      PhlUps   114 

Mr.  Sheridan's  Invective  ag-ainst  Hastings,  -  '       Sheridan  1 15 

Mr.  Burke's  description  of  Junius,  -         -         -         Burke   117 

Mr.  Burke's  compliment  to  jVlr.  Fox,  -         -         -       do.       US 

Extract  of  a  Speech  of  Mr.  Curran,  -  -  -  Curran  119 
Extract  from  a  P^ulogy  on  Jefferson  and  Adams,  pronounced  at 

Washington,  1S26, Webster   128 

Extract  from  an  Address  at  the  laying  of  the  comer  stone  of 

the  Bunker  Hill  Monument,  -  -  -  -  Webster  128 
Speech  of  Titus  Quinctius  to  the  Romans,  -  -        130 

Extract  from  J'.ulge  Story's  Continental  Address,  delivered  at 

Salem,  1828, Story  132 

Address  to  the  American  Youth,         -         -  -  Hawes  135 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
promiscuous  pieces. 

The  incidents  of  a  Voyage  across  the  Atlantic,  -  -  Irving  139 
Description    of  a   Thunder  Storm   on   the   Highlands  of  the 

Hudson,    -        - -DO.  143 

The  ha])py  effects  of  a  virtuous  sensibility,  -         -  Blair  144 

The  importance  of  Order  in  the  management  of  business,   do.  146 

The  Funeral  of  .Maria, Mackenzie  147 

The  Vision  of  Mirza, Addison  150 

The  Eternity  of  God, Greenwood  154 

The  Sea  and  its  Inhabitants,  -  -  -  -  -  Enfield  \hb 
Description  of  Jerusalem  and  the  surrounding  country, 

Letters  from  the  East  158 


CONTENTS. 
FART  !!• 

PIECES  L\  VERSE. 
CHAPTER  I. 

Select  Paragraphs,         .---..  164 

CHAPTER  H. 

NARRATIVE    PIECES. 

The  Hare  and  many  Friends, Gay  169 

The  Airicaii  Chief",    ---.-.  Bryant  171 

The  sacriljce  of  Abraham,     -        -        -        -        .      Willis  172 

CHAPTER  HI. 

WDACTiC    PIECES. 

On  early  rising,         -------    Hurdis  175 

Humility  recommended,  &c.,         -         -         -         -         Beattie  176 

Human  Frailty,         --------  178 

Harvest  Hymn,    ---.-----  180 

Education,        -------     Wordsworth .  181 

Address  to  Liberty,       ------         Cmvper  183 

**  All  things  are  of  God,"  -         -         -         -         -      Moore  184: 

The  hour  of  Prayer,     ------         Amulet  ih. 

Hop(rtrium})hant  in  Death,        -         -         -         -  CaiiiyhcU  185 

Incentives  to  Devotion,         -.=         -••  WkUc  187 

CHAPtER  IV. 

DESCRIPTIVE    PIECES. 

Tlie  Rainbow, Camphdl  188 

The  last  days  of  Autumn,    -----     Pkkcival  189 

An  Evening  Sketch, 190' 

JNiagara  Falls,      -----      Literary  Gazette  19i 

Holienlindfti,  -         -         -         -         -     '    -         -  Camphcil  193 

S.immcr  Morning,         --------  194 

The  Envious  Man,  -------      Pollok    ih. 

Cheerfulness, Fitzgerald  19l 

Night  before  the  Battle  of  Waterloo,        ...       ^Hyron  197 

CHAPTER  V. 

pathetic  pieces. 

Lines  written  on  a  return  from  India,  -         -         -         -         -  198 

The  Winter  Nijrht, Burns  200 

The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,      -         -         -         -         "      do.  Wl 

The  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore,         -         .         -         .         Wo/fe  203 

*•  Earth  to  Earth,  and  Dust  to  Dust,"  ...    Croly  204 

CHAPTER  VL 

promiscuous  pieces. 

The  Rose  of  the  Wilderness,      -         .         -         .        CamyheJl  205 

Apostrophe  to  Mount  Parnassus,      -         -  -        Byron  206 


CONTENTS. 

«,,      -  Poire 

The  Ocean, Byron  207 

The  Sacking  of  Prague,  -         -  ■       -         -         -    Campbell  208 

The  Greek  and  the  Turkman,  -  •  -  -  -  Croly  209 
Morning  Meditations,  -  -  -  .  -  Hawkcsworth  211 
Hymn  to  the  Stars,  -  -  -  .  -  -  -  -  ift. 
Address  to  a  Mummy,  -  -  .  .  London  Magazine  ^\Z 
On  Time,  .-.-.._        Osborne  214 

The  Silent  Expression  of  Nature,  -        -        -        -        -  215 

The  Man  of  Benevolence,  -         .         -         -         -    PoUok  216 

The  Passions : — an  Ode,  -  -  -  -  -  Collins  218 
Elegy  written  in  a  country  Churchyard,  -  -  -  Gray  220 
On  the  Barrows,  or  Monumental  ^Iounds,  in  the  Prairies  of  the 

Western  rivers, Flint  223 

The  Ruins, 225 

A  Summer  Evening  Meditation,         -        -        -         Barhauld  220 


PART  III. 

AMERICAN  HISTORY. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Discovery  of  America  : — Settlement  of  Virginia  by  the  English, 

Tytler's  History  229 

Settlement  of  Massachusetts, do.  235 

Settlement    of   Rhode    Island,  Connecticut,  New  Hampshire, 

Maine,  and  Maryland,  and  North  and  South  Carolina,    do.  239 
Settlement  of  New  York,  New  Jersey,  Pennsylvania,  Delaware, 

and  Georgia,  -.._---  do.  243 
War  with  France,  and  conquest  of  Canada,  -  -  do.  245 
Difficulties  between  Great  Britain  and  the  Colonies,  and  conse- 
quent war  of  the  Revolution,  -  -  -  -  do.  247 
The  same  subject  conthmed,  -----  do.  251 
The  same  subject  continued,           -         -         -         -         -     do.  254 

CHAPTER  II. 
Declaration  of  Independence,  ------  261 

CHAPTER  III. 
Constitution  of  the  United  States,         -----     2G5 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Constitution  of  the  State  of  -        -        -        -         280 


^m 


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